


The Sprinting Dead

by spnredemption



Series: Redemption Road [37]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-06
Updated: 2012-09-06
Packaged: 2017-11-15 01:12:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 52,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/521508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spnredemption/pseuds/spnredemption
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>In a jungle of long-ago mystery, Dean and Castiel grow closer as the world around them begins to spin out of control.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sprinting Dead

**Author's Note:**

> **Masterpost:** **[Supernatural: Redemption Road](http://spn-redemption.livejournal.com/1552.html)** (for full series info, warnings, and disclaimer)  
>  **Author:** [](http://nyoka.livejournal.com/profile)[**nyoka**](http://nyoka.livejournal.com/)  
>  **Characters/Pairing:** Dean/Castiel, Sam, OCs  
>  **Rating:** R for Part I  
>  **Word Count:** ~53,000  
>  **Warnings:** language, sexuality  
>  **Beta:** [](http://zatnikatel.livejournal.com/profile)[**zatnikatel**](http://zatnikatel.livejournal.com/)  
>  **Art:** Chapter banners/covers by [](http://animotus.livejournal.com/profile)[**animotus**](http://animotus.livejournal.com/) and digital paintings by [](http://ammo.livejournal.com/profile)[**ammo**](http://ammo.livejournal.com/), [](http://slinkymilinky.livejournal.com/profile)[**slinkymilinky**](http://slinkymilinky.livejournal.com/) , [](http://kuma-la-la.livejournal.com/profile)[**kuma_la_la**](http://kuma-la-la.livejournal.com/), and [](http://smallworld-inc.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://smallworld-inc.livejournal.com/)**smallworld_inc** (all art contains spoilers for the episode).

"Thus you may understand that love alone  
is the true seed of every merit in you,  
and of all acts for which you must atone."  
―Dante Alighieri, _Purgatorio_  


**I. The Call**

_In the Air over the South Pacific  
Fifteen Miles North of Easter Island_

Dean slides a shaky hand over his thigh, fingers nervously drumming along to the hard rhythm of _Master of Puppets_ spilling out of the earphones of Sam's iPod. His brother had passed him the music player once they were airborne, probably figuring it was the most effective way of calming Dean down. Dean sucks in a deep breath, eyes squeezing shut tight just as the lyrics fill his head: _Hell is worth all that, natural habitat. Just a rhyme without a reason. Never-ending maze, drift on numbered days. Now your life is out of season_.

Dean opens his eyes when he feels Castiel squeeze his hand. The angel's seated on Dean's right, his long body leaning in toward Dean as if offering protection, and Dean shoots him a thankful smile before pressing his head back against the headrest and humming softly to himself. The window to his left shows only wide-blue sky. He's seen the same thing for the last thousand miles – the last three hours – and he doesn't really feel any need to see it again. Dean turns his head away.

The problem is that the charter plane is too damn small and too damn cramped, and they've been in the air for _way_ too damn long, as far as Dean's concerned. In the seat across from him, Sam's smiling to himself, oblivious and unconcerned, geeking out to his giant world atlas, which showcases the glossy shine of remote Polynesian islands scattered in a sea of infinite blue every time he turns the page. Dean sighs; at least someone seems to be enjoying their little misadventure.

When the plane rocks around him, Castiel squeezes Dean's hand tighter. Dean breathes in and out, sucking in deep breath after breath for several moments, feeling like some kind of lamaze coach. Or maybe Castiel is the coach, and Dean's the one going into labor. Fuck it, Dean groans, turning off the music and dumping the iPod at his feet. It's not working anyway. He lets his gaze fall out of the window again, onto the expanse of blue ocean rolling out beneath them.

He really friggin' hates planes. Especially these small little-bitty ones they've been hopping around in since they left Brazil. They were able to dump the German tour group at their stop-over in Santiago de Chile, before boarding what Dean assumes is some kind of small smuggler craft. Their pilot, Raúl, is a friend of Harper's, and he'd been traveling with a crate of weapons, everything Sam, Dean, and Castiel would need to kick some serious monster ass in the near future.

Dean turns away from the window, and tries _not_ to think about hurtling two-thousand feet above the Pacific. It's a five-hour flight, and it's been bumpy the entire way going. They're in a four-seater, single-engine Cessna 172 Skyhawk, and Dean knows enough about machines to know this one is older than dirt, probably held together with duct-tape, spit and a prayer. It's noisy too, the engine's racket drowning out most attempts at conversation. It's just the four of them now, and Raúl tosses Dean a thumbs-up every time he straightens the tiny plane out after it lurches unexpectedly. Dean grunts and squirms in his seat.

"We'll be landing shortly," Castiel whispers in Dean's ear, hand squeezing Dean's again. It's weird to be the one being mother-henned, because Dean's so used to being the one looking out for people. But he knows Cas has got his back, and for once he's able to let loose a deep breath and sink lower in his seat. He's managed to keep his lunch so far, so at least he has that much going for him. Since taking off from Santiago, they've made only one fuel stop – on a small, remote South Pacific island with a landing strip hacked into a grassy field. Needless to say, Dean had not been impressed.

"Still don't know why we couldn't have driven," Dean groans, purposely pouting.

Castiel's lips curl softly as he teases the fingers of their joined hands together. "Because even the Impala is not _badass_ enough to drive over two thousand miles of sea."

Sam snickers from across the way, tossing his giant atlas aside and picking up one of the books he'd brought with him. "This contact we're meeting sounds awesome. Modern-day Indiana-Jones type. She wrote this book," Sam pauses, holding up the tattered hardback in his hand, "about the use of magic in the modern age. It's fascinating."

Dean rolls his eyes, sighs wearily. "Thank you, Professor Winchester."

As if on cue, the plane lurches forward again, Sam chuckles, and Castiel kisses Dean's cheek to comfort him. Fuck everything, Dean sighs, closes his eyes, and hums _Fade to Black_.

The late afternoon sunlight flashes across the still water, and in the distance Dean can see the curved outline of the island, the lush, rugged green coast welcoming visitors to what could easily be the edge of the world.

"Easter Island is thought to be the most remote inhabited island in the world," Sam's saying with nerd-boy glee as he unbuckles his seatbelt. Dean grunts and works to steady his shaking hands in order to unhook his own seatbelt. A moment before, the tiny plane had touched down on a private dirt airstrip outside the port town of Hanga Roa.

"Bienvenidos a Rapa Nui!" Raúl says cheerily from the pilot seat once the engine finally cuts off, and Dean feels like he can actually breathe again.

"Dude, we so have to see the Rano Kau," Sam says, a big goofy smile covering his face as he waggles his _Lonely Planet_ guidebook at Dean.

"Is that some kind of kinky porn?" Dean squints at his brother skeptically. "Should I warn Mira?"

Sam flips him the bird and begins packing his books back into his backpack. Castiel is laughing at them softly, running his hand up and down Dean's arm, a gesture that Dean maybe likes a little too much. "I remember when that volcano last erupted," Castiel comments. "It was magnificent. The ash blackened the sky for almost a year."

Dean tenses, brows arching. "It's not still active, right?"

Castiel shuffles his bookbag onto his back and begins to slowly exit the plane behind Sam. "Not for more than five thousand years," he says with an assuring smile.

"Dude, sometimes I forget you are _so_ friggin' old," Dean huffs, climbing down from the plane behind Castiel and breathing in the fresh, oxygen-rich island air. He looks around at the bumpy dirt runway, frowning at the fact that they seem to have landed on yet another airstrip in the middle of nowhere.

"How old are you exactly, Cas?" Sam says, helping Raúl to unload the rest of the duffle bags and the container of smuggled weapons from the plane.

Castiel looks at Sam for a moment, smiling mysteriously. " _Old_."

Dean snorts and stands beside Castiel, watching Raúl perform his routine check of the plane. Happy to no longer be trapped in that thing while in the air, Dean closes his eyes and lets himself readjust to the feel of solid ground under his boots. The temperature is mild, and a gusty breeze is coming in from the sea, drying the sweat on Dean's skin.

"So what now?" Sam asks, dumping his duffle bag full of research at his feet and standing on Dean's right side.

Turning from the plane, Dean surveys the desolate landing site, trying to get their bearings after being in the air for so long. Miles of grassy fields surround them on all sides in what Raúl had called an old, abandoned sugar plantation.

Eyes panning over the expanse of remote countryside, Dean takes in the broad, summer-green hills that hug the shores of the white-sand beaches he'd seen from the air.

"I think that mountain to the west must be Rano Kau," Sam says, holding out a map and locating their coordinates.

In the far distance, Dean hears the sound of an old engine, and he cocks his head toward the hills for a long moment before he sees what he'd been listening for.

"The welcoming party," he says, pointing to the sky-blue Land Rover turning the corner of the dirt road, kicking up dust and bumping over the rocky terrain.

When the vehicle grounds to a halt a few feet in front of them, Castiel goes tense, and Dean waits a beat before putting his hand on Sam's shoulder to prevent any forward motion.

They wait another moment, and then the driver's-side window rolls down all the way, and a woman sticks her head out, a broad smile working its way across her face. She pushes her shades up, settling them atop her head, and says, "Sorry I'm late, gentlemen. I got caught up giving a video lecture to a group of researchers from the University of Hawaii on the impact of ancient gods on modern religion."

"Professor Eloni Nam'ulu?" Sam says, stepping forward and circling toward the driver's side.

"That's me," she says and jumps out of the Land Rover, her big boots kicking up sand and dust as they hit the ground. She's short, not more than 5'3, and her sun-browned legs extend from rumpled khaki shorts. She strides purposely toward them and shakes all of their hands as they introduce themselves.

Dean thinks back to all the info Harper had shared about their contact. Professor Nam'ulu is a renowned archaeologist and ethnologist in her early fifties. She's on sabbatical from Oxford, and she's written extensively about Cthulhu cults. Lucky for them, she'd been tracking the weird happenings across the world and has followed the movements of one particular Cthulhu cult across the islands of the South Pacific.

Dean eyes her for a long moment, taking her in. She's rugged in appearance, her voice whiskey-rough as she chats in Spanish with Raúl. She has a full, heart-shaped face with olive skin and thick salt-and-pepper hair twisted up into a sloppy bun. Something about her reminds him a bit of Ellen, or maybe Jody Mills. She seems to have the kind of smile that eases tension, calms nerves, and hints at a wellspring of inner-strength.

"So, you're actually hunting Cthulhu?" she says, her words interrupting Dean's thoughts as she turns to meet his gaze head-on.

Dean responds with a shrug. "Something like that. Looking for a weapon that could stop him."

Eloni shakes her head, eyes closing for a moment before she turns to look at each of them. "I've been fearing this moment would come. All the signs…all the cult activity."

"So you know he's real?" Sam says, brow creasing.

Eloni sighs softly and says, "Spend most of your life digging up ancient civilizations and your outlook on what's 'real' changes. There's evidence of something like Cthulhu going back thousands of years. This is no fairy tale, gentlemen."

"Many myths and legends have an origin in something real," Castiel says, and Dean smiles at that because, hello, _angel_.

They move quickly then, loading themselves and their bags into Eloni's Land Rover, which she expertly maneuvers back onto the road with no wasted time. The sun is high in the sky as they take the winding dirt road past another farm, and up into the foothills of one of the mountains, its rocky peaks rising lava-brown against the clear sky.

Castiel pushes close to Dean in the backseat, and takes Dean's hand in his own. They've been doing this a lot, joining hands every chance they can, pulling themselves closer together in some way, an outward symbol of what they've always known to be true deep down: every part of them is linked, bound together in this crazy way Dean doesn't have a name for.

Dean glances out at the rolling water of the South Pacific. Maybe theirs is a connection that runs as deep as the ocean.

Twenty minutes later, Sam's tracking their path on the map he's carrying. They're following the main road that winds along the coastline of the island, cows and horses dotting the green hills they pass. The road's unpaved, uneven, and potholed, and it sends the Land Rover bouncing with every mile.

"Think we'll have time to see the giant Moai statues?" Sam asks, twisting his head to take in more of the countryside, his long hair blowing with the wind.

"We head out tomorrow morning," Eloni says, raising her voice to be heard over the vehicle's engine. "But maybe you can spend a couple of extra days here before you head back to the States. The history of this island is a history of a people that survived against remarkable odds."

"They were so cut off from the world," Sam says, recalling what he read in the guidebook.

"It was what sped up the end for them. When they no longer had trees or resources, they were trapped here," Eloni says. "It's a tale of caution, in many ways. You can see pictures carved in the cave walls, depicting people's dreams of escape. Pictures of birds flying toward the sky. With no wood left to build boats, all the Rapa Nui people could do was look enviously at the birds that sailed effortless through the sky. All they could do was dream of flying."

Castiel clears his throat, and Sam turns to see Dean running his hand along the curve of the angel's back, where his wings would be if visible, and it's a motion that Sam knows is meant to give comfort. He smiles, wonders if his brother will ever admit to being in love with Cas.

"We're headed toward Pukao now, a beach on the north side of the island, which is where I am renting a home," Eloni explains. "We'll stay there tonight and then set sail out of the main harbor at Hanga Roa in the morning."

The road twists around a hill and then past a rocky cliff that plunges down toward the ocean. Waves break hard against the rocks there, and the air smells of salt and water. Sam thinks how idyllic this would all be if he didn't know what lurked out there beneath the surf. There are little cottages dotting the island, built simply with wood harvested from the towering palms, and there's a small beach just around the next bend, a small cove of calm blue water and white sand.

It's here that Eloni heads, directing the Land Rover inland. Sam glances out of the window, at the wind raking through the tall palms, at the grass huts lining the roadside.

"This community is called _te pito o te henua_ ," Eloni says, the road's rocks grinding loudly under the wheels of the vehicle as she turns into the curve. "The navel of the world."

"The middle of nowhere," Sam says as they round yet another curve, following the uphill slope.

"So a question then: where can a guy get a cheeseburger out here?" Dean says from the backseat, and Sam rolls his eyes, shooting his brother a dirty look.

"I saw cows on the hill two miles back," Castiel says, tone thoughtful.

Sam snickers, wondering if this was Castiel's way of offering to provide for Dean. "Seriously, guys?" he asks, exasperated.

"No need to scare the cows, Castiel," Eloni says, smiling from the driver's seat. "I've got food covered."

Dean whoops in satisfaction, and Sam grunts, glancing out of the dusty windshield, eyes widening as the vehicle rounds up a long, curved driveway. Before them the trees part to reveal an immense clearing, backdropped by the cloudless blue sky and lush volcanic hills. In the clearing itself is a sprawling two-story hacienda shaded by palm trees and edged by a landscaped lawn.

The Land Rover continues to wind up the gravel driveway before coming to a stop at the top of the circular drive. Sam manages to close his mouth when the engine cuts off. "Um, wow," he says.

Eloni smiles, shrugging. "One of the perks of finding long lost treasures: governments like to put you up in style, and museums pay very, very well."

Sam chuckles, turning to take in the rest of the villa. The house is made of white stucco and red hand-etched clay tiles, and the entrance is flanked by white marble columns. Orange and red tropical flowers add a burst of color to the scene; they crawl alongside vines up the ornate archway that leads to the front door. Palms dot the lawn, swaying gently with the breeze.

They sit there gaping at the house for a long moment, before the tall, wooden front doors fall open, and a lanky teenager walks out to greet them.

"Everyone, this is my son, Tukuah," Eloni introduces as she climbs out of the Land Rover, Sam, Dean, and Castiel slowly piling out behind her.

The boy's taller than Eloni, with a lean, wiry body and big hands he hasn't quite grown into. He has to dip his head as Eloni leans in to kiss his cheek. She ruffles his curly, dark hair as she pulls away, and asks, "Everything in order for our guests?"

"I've set up everything in your study," he says, nodding at his mother before turning a shy, dimpled smile on Sam, Dean, and Castiel. "Welcome to our home. You can call me Tuk."

"It's an awesome-looking house," Sam says, shaking the boy's proffered hand.

"Wait 'til you see the inside," Tuk says with a smile, motioning for them to follow him.

Sam, Dean, and Castiel quickly unload the vehicle, and arms laden with duffle bags, they follow Eloni and Tuk past a grand fountain and stone steps, and through the main entrance to the house. The entranceway opens into a foyer with elegant ornamentation, and they all pause here for a moment as Eloni whispers, " _Hekai ite umu pare haonga takapu Hanau epe kai noruego_."

Sam frowns, nudging Cas. "What's she saying?" he asks, voice low.

"It's a prayer recited to appease the spirit guardian of the home," Castiel says quietly. "A chant passed down from the original inhabitants of the island, when they dwelled in its caves."

"Oh, cool," Sam says, recalling reading something about the tradition in the history book he skimmed about the cultures of Easter Island.

"Dude, this place is friggin' ginormous," Dean says from next to him, bringing Sam back to the moment.

Sam nods, humming as he takes in the wide expanse of the luxuriously decorated living room. Sunlight streams through the large picture windows, bouncing off the crystal chandeliers. In the hallway, the whitewashed walls are covered with paintings, while sculptures and art pieces decorate shelves and tables, displaying an array of world cultures that Sam feels the need to stop and investigate at every turn.

Dean shoots him a "you're such a geek-boy" look that Sam takes in stride, because there are masterworks of art in this house, and he has no shame in _geeking_ out over them. Plus, he's feeling good. Like, really _good_. He's gone weeks without Lucifer daymares, and exercise and meditation have helped him to feel more centered in his body. When Mira first introduced him to a new plan of intense mind-body healing practices she first learned at the hands of Buddhist monks in Nepal, Sam had been skeptical. But during the past three weeks, whenever she stayed over, they'd been getting up early and doing two hours of deep meditation and yoga that worked to calm the mind. It wasn't a cure-all, nothing would ever be. But combined with the right mix of medicine, herbal teas, and the techniques he'd picked up from Jody and her books, Sam has been managing his attacks better. He and Dean probably both need years (no, make that _decades_ ) of heavy counseling and other treatment, but for now they were keeping each other going, keeping each other human: making sure they don't get lost in the sharp-edged, dark corners of their memories.

Sam turns to look behind him. The rear of the house opens up with patio doors that lead down to an Olympic-size pool, surrounded by dark adobe tiles. Beyond the pool is a wide expanse of green lawn and then the ocean going into the distance. Not for the first time, Sam wishes he hadn't talked Mira out of taking this trip with them. But she's back at home, working with Tamara, Missouri, Bobby, and every other hunter in their inner-circle to keep the world in one piece while Sam, Dean, and Castiel go treasure hunting. Damn, he would have liked to take her skinny-dipping in that pool though, and from the look on Dean's face, Sam knows his brother is thinking the same thing in regards to Cas. Sam smiles at the Winchester brothers' newfound priorities.

Sam can only shake his head, a small chuckle passing his lips as he makes his way down the hall behind Castiel and his brother. It's been a long while since he and Dean have both been this wound up in other people, and not just each other. It feels like their little world is expanding bit by bit. It feels good.

Sam notices that the deep interior of the house smells of burning herbs and oil, which give off a warm, familiar scent. He looks around for the source of it and sees a bowl filled with leaves and dried flowers situated on an altar at the end of the hallway.

"Harper didn't tell us you practiced," Sam says carefully, shooting Dean a look, knowing how his brother feels about witches.

"You're a witch?" Dean asks, voice sliding sharp with distrust.

"I only work on the light's side, gentlemen," Eloni says, turning to look at them. They're standing in front of the wide, sweeping staircase, preparing to ascend.

Tuk places a hand on his mother's shoulder and adds, "It helps us with our work."

"Meaning?" Dean says lowly.

"It's alright, Dean. I only sense benevolent energies in the house," Castiel breaks in, his voice a soft rumble. "The magic practiced here is one of protection and guidance."

Eloni looks at Castiel, eyebrows arching. "Do you have the second sight, Castiel?"

Castiel frowns, tilting his head. "I don't know? I do have many sights. I'm…I _was_ an angel of the Lord."

Eloni's mouth drops open, but Dean clears his throat loudly, cutting in to say, "Uh, so, yeah, Professor it's good to hear that you're Glinda the Good Witch and all. Me and Sammy haven't had the best experiences in the past."

Eloni seems to ease up at that, and Sam is grateful. "I understand," she says. "Spellcasting helps me in my day job. When I'm seeking artifacts, locator spells and protection spells ensure that I am able to do my job safely."

"And sometimes we have to break curses," Tuk adds as he begins to climb the grand staircase. "You'd be surprised how many dig sites we arrive at only to find objects that are covered with old curses."

"So all the old stories about cursed tombs are true?" Sam asks, eyeing the top of the stairs. Two wings of the house spread out on either side of the staircase, and Eloni and Tuk begin to lead them down the left wing.

"Most of the old stories about most everything are true," Eloni says with a smirk, echoing Castiel's words from earlier.

Sam laughs, nodding. If there's one thing he's learned on the job, it's that. He peeks into one of the first bedrooms, eyes widening. The room is almost as big as most one-bedroom apartments he and Dean have stayed in over the years. In fact, the rooms are actually more like suites, and there appears to be a large balcony attached to each one.

"You all will have this wing of the house to yourself. Any bedroom is yours for the duration of your stay," Eloni says.

The room Sam finally dumps his stuff in is pretty sweet. Nicely decorated with dark wood furniture and modern art, with floor-to-ceiling windows along the far wall that overlook the grounds. Plus, the king-sized bed looks big enough for all of Sam's limbs.

Dean and Castiel choose a room a couple of doors down, and Sam smiles because he is more than happy to not have to be scarred for life anymore by the noises he hears radiating from their bedroom at night, thank you very much. He heads into their room and whistles at the view. It's incredible: white sandy beaches with the ocean stretching off into the horizon.

"When we kill this sonofabitch, we're taking a much needed vacation here, man," Dean says, collapsing spread-eagle-style on the bed and sinking his head down into the downy, silk-covered pillows.

Castiel sits beside him on the bed, smiling down at Dean, whispering, "I'd like that."

Sam smirks at the display, unable to resist adding: "Or you guys can just come here for your honeymoon."

Dean flips him the bird and mutters, "Bond chick."

"Wholphins," Sam retorts with a laugh, and damn, Cthulhu-apocalypse or not, it feels good to laugh like this again.

"Rest yourself, gentlemen," Eloni says from the doorway, smiling at them indulgently. "Make yourselves at home, the house is yours. If you are able, please meet me downstairs for four o'clock. I can show you my research."

Glancing at his watch, Sam takes that as his cue to head back to his room. He has two hours. Time enough for a shower, a nap, and a catch-up call to Mira. Oh, and maybe a dip in the hot tub he saw down by the pool.

"Tell me something, Cas," Dean says, because this place is incredible, and brings back all those dreams he had when he was twelve and wanted to be Indiana Jones. "Is this sort of like looking through an old photo album?"

Castiel runs his hand along Dean's lower back before stepping around him to eye the ancient relics covering the table. "It's strange to see things I once saw in their prime, eroded by time," he says after a beat. "It's not something I used to think about. But now, I look around and think of the limited amount of time humans experience here on Earth."

Dean sucks in a sharp breath and winds his hand around Castiel's waist. "You need to think about cheerier things, man."

Castiel meets his eyes and smiles. "If it makes you feel better, I often think about you," he says simply.

Dean feels his face heat up and turns away to look across the room to where his brother and Tuk are pulling books off of one of the shelves. They're currently on the bottom floor of Eloni's villa in a private study the size of most libraries. It houses Eloni's research and private collections, and in many ways this place could be called a private museum, with its rows of dark wooden cabinetry displaying relics and artifacts from around the world.

Floor-to-ceiling dark mahogany bookcases line the walls, crammed with hundreds of books on history, lore, and the supernatural. Dean explores, running his hands along the bookshelves, his hunter instincts telling him to make note of all the books he might need for future reference. Dean definitely wants to introduce Bobby to Eloni because he thinks maybe these two were meant for each other.

While Castiel moves to look around further, Dean follows the row of artifacts before him, a mix of ancient masks, hand-carved wooden statues, tools, weapons, and pottery. Dean pauses for a moment, eyeing one particular mask sitting on a shelf, his hand instinctively running over his amulet. The bronze mask sort of resembles it, a human head with bull-like horns.

"Hey Eloni," Dean says, finding her at a nearby shelf.

Eloni looks up from the copper plate she had been reaching for. "See anything that you like?"

He points to the mask, asking, "What's the story on that? It kind of looks like my bronze charm."

Eloni steps closer to Dean, taking his necklace between her fingers and examining the amulet for a long moment. "I've never been sure of the exact origins of my mask, since horned gods appear in many ancient cultures. I would guess that the one you're wearing is an Egyptian protection deity," Eloni says, stepping back to pick up her mask from the shelf and examine it. "This is something much older. I've always thought this mask was a Sumerian warrior."

"Does it burn hot in the presence of God?" Dean asks, smirking.

Eloni shoots Dean a curious look. "I highly doubt it."

"Then mine is still cooler," Dean says, shrugging. "Mostly though, cuz Sammy gave it to me. Speaking of my brother…" He turns to see Sam pretty much humping a bookshelf as he makes orgasm faces at being near so many old books.

"He's definitely enjoying himself," Eloni says with a soft laugh.

Dean grunts, shaking his head. "A little too much if you ask me, but hey, to each his own."

Eloni pats Dean on his back before making her way over to her son. Before following, Dean pauses to take another close look at one of the artifacts in the cabinet in front of him, a stone carving depicting some kind of joining between man and woman. _Kinky_.

"That one's a fertility idol from Atlantis." Castiel's warm rumble distracts Dean from trying to figure out the spiral symbol carved into the bottom of the stone guy's mammoth-sized dick. Dean turns his head; the angel is standing along his back, his breath pressing warm against Dean's cheek, and looking intensely at the display.

"Are you telling me that _Atlantis_ was real?" Dean asks, skeptical.

Castiel looks up at Dean, his frown deepening. "Of course it was real."

Dean huffs out a breath and shakes his head. "Cas there are just some things you need to ease a guy into."

"Is this about your sex life again?" Sam interrupts, coming up from behind them and frowning at Dean like he just tasted something gross.

Dean groans, and Castiel shakes his head. "No, although Dean and I are taking it slow," the angel says quietly.

Sam's eyes widen. "Okay, way too much information for me," he mutters and turns around to head back across the room.

"Cas, what did I tell you about scaring Sam away with stuff like that?" Dean asks, shaking his head and trying not to laugh.

"Be comforted by the fact that he doesn't look as troubled as the time he walked in while Mira and I were discussing the Kama Sutra's use of Tantra," Castiel assures.

"Wait what? As in _tantric_ sex?" Dean says, because _wait, what_?

Castiel shrugs. "She'd been exploring the connection between spirituality, worship and sex, and had questions about how humans could tap into tantric energy for not only pleasure, but spiritual awakening and healing. She and Sam had been practicing deep meditation and she wanted to bring that ritual into all of their day-to-day—"

"Wait, please don't say anything else," Dean cuts in, crying on the inside. He has to shake it off. though, so he continues, "Anyway, sex is sex, Cas. We don't need all that hoodoo magic added to it."

Castiel looks up at Dean, a curious expression on his face. "You're made uncomfortable by this, I see," he says, voice soft with understanding. He looks at Dean for a long, searching moment, and Dean feels like pulling his eyes away, embarrassed, but before he does, Castiel adds, "Dean, there's actually nothing to feel shame about. I understand that humans rarely like to connect their unions to spiritual expression, to a sacred act. Even for my brothers and sisters here on Earth, they often had sex as their human vessels had sex, without connecting it to the sort of divine expression angels shared with each other when we joined in our true forms."

Dean lowers his voice and asks, "So angels do have sex? I mean, I _know_ you all can have sex when you're in human bodies, which actually still kind of weirds me out. But, like when you're all multi-dimensional wavelengths and stuff? You have sex like that?" He'd always wondered what that would be like for them.

"Although I've never had the occasion," Castiel says, smiling softly, probably thinking back to the first time Dean had asked him the question, and the resulting failed experiment at trying to get him laid at a brothel. Dean sometimes has the worst ideas. "But yes, we have what is more closely akin to spiritual communion. We experience each other, but also through each other, we experience the divine, the essential oneness of ourselves with our Father's creation."

"Huh," Dean says, because that seems pretty intense. In truth, sex with Castiel has been among the most intense experiences he's ever had in the bedroom, but the thought of connecting on an even _deeper_ level kind of freaks him out.

Castiel is smiling at him, knowingly. "Dean if you'd like, I can introduce you to Tantra. It simply involves tapping into the full expression of our existence, a merging with our combined sexual energies."

"Seriously, guys, are you _really_ still going on about your sex life?" Sam says, reappearing at Dean's side with an armful of books. He shoots them both scandalized looks before saying, "Mind helping us out over there with the research instead?"

Dean happily obliges, shooting Cas a 'please behave' look before following his brother to the large oak table in the center of the room.

"You gotta admit, this place is pretty cool," Sam tells Dean as all three of them take their seats around the table.

"I could tell by the fact you were making orgasm faces at the books," Dean quips, waggling his brows at his baby brother.

Sam shoots him one of his _looks_ , before rolling his eyes at Dean and continuing to whisper sweet-nothings to the 200-year-old copy of _One Thousand and One Nights_ in his hand.

Castiel sits close beside Dean, craning his neck to gaze up into the shadows of the room. "This room is heavily warded," the angel says quietly. "Eloni has done well in protecting her work."

"It's why my son and I have used this place as our base of operation for the past three months, making the move from Chile to here. It allows me the privacy I need to track the Cthulhu cults moving across South America and the South Pacific," Eloni says, joining them at the table. She unrolls a giant map across the surface, and Tuk appears at her side, placing books at each corner of the map to hold it open.

While Tuk takes a seat at the table, Eloni continues to speak. "I didn't make the link between the chain of events happening globally until I started tracking the cults' activities. The disappearances, the strange signs, the cosmic upset – from all that I've researched, they are portents of the Beast's rise. The cults know it too, and they've been making arrangements across the world, especially here in the South Pacific islands, to prepare its way."

"That's why shit's been so bad all over," Dean says, voice coming out thicker than he'd expected.

"The cults are using very old rituals and magic," Eloni says quietly. "Things that I've only heard of in legend."

"In many ways this is a time of legend," Castiel says, voice booming loud and ominous in the solemn quiet of the room. Dean turns to look at Cas, but the angel's eyes are glazed over, his face lost in thought.

Sam throws Dean a curious look, but Dean can only shrug. Sam turns to look at Eloni and says, "Professor, we know Harper filled you in about our plan." He pauses, running his finger along the spine of another one of the tomes he'd been examining. "We need to locate a specific artifact. Along with an artifact we already located in Brazil, our sources say it could help us to stop Cthulhu."

"Hastur's weapons," Eloni says, nodding her head. "I'd heard of the legend so long ago, but when Harper spoke of the sword you'd found, I just knew it had to be the same ones. He asked me if I knew how to use the sword. But I told him I could do something better: find the other artifact."

"That's exactly what we need," Sam says, voice eager.

Eloni runs a hand over the map, fingers trailing across the expanse of the Pacific. "It's said that Hastur made three weapons powerful enough to be used by his followers against Cthulhu," she explains. "Each on their own, or combined together, could do damage to the Beast. Even kill him. Or so the legend says."

"We lost the dagger," Castiel says, voice low with regret, as he reenters the conversation. "So there are only the two remaining."

Dean touches Castiel's knee under the table, looks at Eloni, and says, "And we're hoping the two remaining weapons will be enough to stop him."

Sam voice is quiet, tense, when he asks, "So you can help us locate the third?"

"I can," Eloni says, looking at them all for a long moment. "But there's one more thing you'll need once you attain Hastur's artifacts." She motions for Tuk to retrieve something from one of her locked cabinets.

A couple of minutes pass, and Dean's legs begin bouncing up and down in anticipation. Castiel traces a hand over his thigh, and Dean feels himself calming immediately.

"What is that?" Sam asks when Tuk finally sets a large book down in the center of the table. It had to weight a few pounds.

Tuk smiles wide and answers, " _The Necronomicon_."

Sam frowns, throwing a skeptical glance at the book. "That's just fiction."

"Yeah, Lovecraft made it up," Dean agrees, taking in the aged, weathered cover of the book. The book is bound shut by metal clasps, and its dark-brown leather hide looks almost like tanned human skin. The symbol on the cover is so rusted it is hard to make out.

"You come here chasing Cthulhu and you're going on about fiction?" Eloni says, huffing out a disbelieving laugh. She leans over the table and looks down at the heavy grimoire for a long moment, running her hand over the symbol on the cover. "No, this is the real thing. The one that inspired Lovecraft's fictional grimoire that goes by the same name. This is _the book_ that Lovecraft based all his stories on."

"Well, shit," Dean breathes out, looking at the aged and beaten cover again, this time with wonder. "That's definitely something we didn't come across at Visyak's place."

"Dr. Eleanor Visyak?" Eloni says, brown eyes widening in surprise.

"Yeah, did you know her?" Sam asks, voice curious.

"I did," Eloni nods. "She taught Medieval Studies at San Francisco University. I ran across her many times in my career. We traveled in the same academic occultist circles, you might say. She'd been looking for a copy of this text for a long time, in fact, but I never revealed to her that I had one of the only copies still surviving on Earth. There was something about her that I just didn't trust. I could sense the black magic coming off of her."

Sam snorts, adding under his breath so that only Dean and Cas could hear, "Probably because she was a nine hundred-year-old monster from Purgatory."

Castiel shifts at Dean's side, and Dean places a hand on his thigh again. Dean knows that Cas is probably thinking about what he did to her in order to gain access to the spell that would open the doorway to Purgatory. It was her blood that Cas used to draw the ritual's sigils on the wall. Dean shakes away the thought and turns his eyes to the old book. "What is it that we need from this book anyway?"

"A spell," Eloni says, opening the book to reveal weathered, yellowing pages filled with small text, sketches, drawings, and sigils.

Dean feels his throat tighten, his neck prickling. "Another one. Of course," he mumbles.

"There's a specific ritual needed to wield the weapons?" Castiel asks, moving his hands toward the book.

"A very powerful one that you'll need to perform before using the artifacts," Eloni says, pushing the book toward Castiel before continuing with, "The book tells the histories of Hastur and Cthulhu. It also provides the spell and a map for where the artifacts are located."

"Why has no one located all of this before?" Sam asks, frowning. "If the book contains this kind of information…"

"Because like you said, Sam, everyone thinks this is fiction," Eloni says, exhaling a tired breath and shaking her head. "There are only five copies of the real _Necronomicon_ in existence. No one believed Cthulhu would rise because no one believed he even existed."

"No one but his followers," Dean says, running a hand through his hair and groaning in frustration. He sits back in his seat and turns to watch Castiel peel back the pages of the book carefully, fully absorbed in his reading.

"Lovecraft did a good job of hoodwinking all of us," Eloni says quietly.

Dean shakes his head again, as if he can shake the craziness of this moment away. He attempts to throw a grateful smile toward Tuk and Eloni, but his lips manage to only curl into a sad grimace. "We really appreciate your help," he says anyway, frowning at the roughness in his voice.

"I didn't know what to do with all this information," Eloni admits. "I've been sitting on this all, at a loss as the world around us goes mad. But when Jonas called, it all made sense. It's like I've been waiting here for you, compiling this all because you were meant to find it."

"Fate," Castiel says, huffing a breath, but never raising his head from the book.

Dean clenches his jaw. "Or something," he murmurs. Cas touches the small of Dean's back, and Dean can still feel the imprint of his hand long after he moves it.

Sam leans forward then, steepling his hands under his chin as he looks at Eloni. "Professor, how did you even get involved with all of this?" he asks, in the sort of curious tone that Dean suspects he used on all his professors back at Stanford.

"I inherited my father's obsession," she says, lips curling sadly.

Dean shoots Sam a pointed look, because, well, yeah, that's something they both know a hell of a lot about. He clears his throat and asks, "How so?"

"My father was an academic like myself," she explains, voice sobering. "He taught history and civilization for over twenty years before he started concentrating exclusively on word religion. He was researching comparative demonology across cultures for a journal article he'd planned to publish. And well, one day he met himself a real demon." She pauses, takes a deep breath and looks at them all steadily. "He survived the possession, fortunately. Unfortunately he became a true believer in the supernatural, and that is what really destroyed him. You see, he tried to tell his colleagues about his experience, but they all thought he'd gone crazy. My father would insist to them: 'These things are real,' he'd say. 'We must do something!'" Eloni quirks her lips in a sad smile, shaking her head. "He lost his tenure, his funding, and his family. It ruined him."

"But you believed him?" Sam asks.

"Not at the time," Eloni says, exhaling deeply. "I thought he was a crazy loon like everyone else did. I hated him in fact, blamed him for destroying our family, breaking my mother's heart. But years later, after he died, I came across boxes of his old research. The things he talked about…they blew my mind. I was in grad school at the time, and it gave me the freedom to look into a lot of what my father had been researching before his death. Look long enough, and you will find the truth."

"True enough," Dean says on a quiet exhale. "Most people though…they don't want to see what's right in front of them. They rather lie to themselves than believe in this stuff."

"The thing about doing the work that I do," Eloni says, turning to glance at Tuk, who's watching her quietly. "The work that Tuk and I do together as a family," she corrects with a smile. "We see all the ways that human society has tried to deal with our boogiemans. Myth and legend, folklore and fairytale. Religion itself. Just words we use to talk about things that the historical record doesn't know what to do with. To talk about the mystery of our creation. Tuk and I, we go where the mystery is."

"Aren't you freaked out by the stuff you find there?" Sam asks, sounding genuinely curious.

"Every damn day," Eloni says, laughing softly. "Every damn day."

"You are brave to do this work," Castiel says, looking up for the first time in a long while. He turns to regard all of them when he says, "This book is very old, very powerful magic, some of which I have not seen used in thousands of years."

Eloni cants her head, expression wry. "How old are you exactly, Mr. _Angel of the Lord_?" she asks, her voice a low tease.

Dean, Sam, and Castiel all answer at the same time, laughing: " _Old_."

Eloni arches a brow. "Okay, then," she says, smirking and sitting back in her chair. "What other questions do you have for me?"

Sam reaches out and slides the _Necronomicon_ in front of him, eyeing it carefully. "What else can you tell us about this? About any of this stuff? I feel like we need to be as prepared as we can be before taking this on."

"We do," Castiel agrees with a nod, running a hand over his stubble in a way that Dean always finds a bit endearing. Dean smiles to himself and looks away as Castiel continues to speak. "I do not know very much about the Great Old Ones myself," the angel admits quietly. "Their time is before even that of the angels."

Eloni still looks like she wants to play _20 Questions with Castiel, Angel of the Lord_ , but she lets it go and says instead, "Alright, then. But if I'm giving a lecture on Cthulhu history, I need to get some food and wine in my system. How about we reconvene upstairs in the dining room, and we can talk more about this over dinner?"

On cue, Dean's belly lets out a low, rumbling growl, and everyone around the table starts laughing. Dean sighs, giving them all dirty looks before he says, "Please tell me there's pie."

Sam makes a face and stands up from the table. "Ignore my brother, professor."

"Shut it, Sam. I had to ride in a death machine over two thousand miles of ocean. I want some pie," Dean mumbles, and Castiel leans over and massages his back, whispering in his ear that even if he doesn't get pie tonight, Dean will definitely get something else just as sweet.

Dean smiles because, yeah, that'll work too.

The formal dining room is as breathtaking as the rest of the house. Paintings and mirrors cover the walls, dark draperies hang across the wide windows, and a low-hanging chandelier casts the room in a delicate ambient light.

Castiel is helping Tuk and Eloni with dinner, but Sam finds Dean standing by himself, a troubled frown on his face. His brother is looking up at a painting hanging over the far right wall of the dining room when Sam comes up behind him to examine it. "Damn, that almost looks like an original," he breathes out when he sees it up close.

Dean jumps, seeming surprised to find Sam there. "What are you on about?"

Sam points to the painting. "The original is definitely in the Louvre right?"

Dean looks confused. "What original?"

Sam squints, moving closer to examine the painting in more detail. It's definitely a really good replica of Raphael's famous masterpiece picturing Michael killing Lucifer. "It's called 'St. Michael Slaying the Dragon'," Sam explains, trying not to let it remind him too much of the Cage. It doesn't really remind him of it at all; the two angels' actual battles resemble nothing of the soft, almost tranquil scene in the painting.

"Whatever it is, it's creeping me the fuck out," Dean mutters, turning away from the image. "I remember seeing the same painting in the Green Room Zachariah trapped me in."

"Then we definitely won't be starting with The Book of Revelation," Eloni says, joining the both of them by the painting, bottle of wine in her hand. "The history we are here to talk about precedes it anyway. It fact, it inspired it."

Sam turns to her and asks, "What do you mean?"

Eloni answers softly with, " _And the great dragon was cast out, that old serpent called the Devil, and Satan which deceiveth the whole world; he was cast out into the earth, and his angels were cast out with him_."

"From Revelation 12:9," Sam says, all too familiar with the passage.

"Yes," Eloni nods. "But Lucifer wasn't the only thing cast into the earth. There were Dragons aplenty before him. And there's a reason he was also called the Dragon or the Beast." She pauses and looks at both Sam and Dean for a long moment before continuing. "Take a seat, gentlemen. Let's eat and talk all about the beasts of old."

Sam feels a little guilty for digging into his plate as he watches Castiel and Tuk move back and forth from the kitchen, placing hot dishes on the table as they become ready.

But according to Dean, Cas has become somewhat of a Top Chef contender in the kitchen. It's kind of funny, and sometimes Sam imagines what they all would be like as normal people, living some idyllic domestic life. Dean and Cas would host Sunday dinners, and Cas would own a little bakery shop on the corner of some small-town Main Street. Sam would own a couple of dogs that Dean would spoil rotten and try to steal away from him with slices of bacon in his pocket…

"Yo, earth to Sammy," Dean says around a mouthful of mashed potatoes. "You eating your roll?"

"Dude, gross, please swallow," Sam says automatically before taking a very pointed and big bite of his roll. Sam meets Dean's glare with a flippant grin.

"Shut it, bitch," Dean mumbles, but his frown turns into a wide smile as Castiel walks back into the room with a huge steaming pan of what looks like glazed lobster.

"Are you sure we can't help?" Sam says, taking the pan from Castiel and placing it in the center of the table.

"Everything's just about ready," Castiel says, taking a seat beside Dean. Tuk and Eloni arrive a moment later, placing the last items onto the table and taking their own seats. Eloni settles in at the head of the table and passes a bottle of expensive-looking red wine around, which Sam uses to fill both his and Dean's glasses.

A colorful array of food items now covers the table. Seared salmon and stuffed lobster, fresh salads and steamed vegetables, creamy potatoes and baked pork chops. Rolls warm and buttery enough to melt in their mouths. Sam licks his lips, and begins to fill his plate, only pausing when Eloni dings her spoon on her wine glass to get their attention.

"To safe journeys," she says, raising her glass in a toast. Sam follows, and he sees Dean directing Cas as well in the toast.

"To safe journeys," they say all together, sipping from their glasses.

They pass serving bowls and dishes amongst each other, and for a long while no one speaks, the soft clanking and clacking of silverware against plates the only noise in the room as they all take the time to enjoy a home-cooked meal.

A while later, stuffed beyond stuffed, Sam picks up his spoon and samples the vegetable soup. Spicy and garlicky, just the way he likes. "This is all amazing," he says when he manages to pause in between sips, smiling over at Eloni and Tuck. "Thank you for your hospitality."

"Your angel here was great help with dessert," Eloni says, casting a smile Castiel's way.

Dean seems to light up at that, and Castiel flushes when Dean nudges the angel's shoulder, and Sam really needs for them to get married already and adopt kittens. _Seriously_.

"Truth is, this is the least I could do," Eloni continues, heaving a heavy breath. "Seeing as you're trying to save the world. The next few days are not going to be easy."

"So, this is like the last meal before the execution?" Sam says, wiping his mouth with a napkin and settling back in his chair.

"Well," Eloni says, running a finger along the edge of her wine glass. "Your last meal before confronting an eons-old tentacled sea beast."

"Same difference," Dean mumbles, pushing forward in his chair to fill up what Sam suspects is his third plate.

Sam grabs the last bread roll before Dean can reach it, and smirks when his brother shoots him another murderous glare.

"Don't forget to save room for dessert," Tuk says in amusement as Sam swallows his bread in two easy bites.

"I always have room for dessert," Dean says around the bite of food in his own mouth. "Ain't that right, Cas?"

Castiel makes a non-committal noise from the back of his throat, but keeps on eating even though Sam can tells he's smiling to himself in the way the angel sometimes smiles with his eyes. Sam shakes his head at the two of them, and spoons more potatoes and steamed veggies onto his own plate. Second serving in hand, he turns to look at the professor and says, voice pitched low, "Why is any of this Cthulhu stuff even happening?"

Eloni puts her fork down gently and wipes her hands on her napkin before placing it back on her lap. "Prophecy?" she says, opening her hands wide as if to say 'who knows'. "Your guess is as good as mine, Sam."

Sam sits back in his chair, sighing. "I wish we knew," he says, rolling his napkin between his fingers and trying not to let all of the uncertainty swirling around in his head unsettle his stomach.

"What I do know is that the _Necronomicon_ is said to be one of the most powerful grimoires of black magic," Eloni says into the quiet of the room. "It even predates the _Lesser Key of Solomon_ when it comes to rituals for demon summoning. It foretells the rise of Cthulhu's sunken city of R’lyeh, and the awakening of Cthulhu and the other Great Old Ones. It also has spells to help bring several powerful deities, multi-dimensional beings, and monsters from the underworld into our world."

Eloni pauses, looking up when Tuk arrives with pie, coffee, and tea. The smell of freshly brewed coffee pulls Sam's attention away for a moment as Eloni helps Tuk pass cups and saucers around the table before continuing. "The book's stories, incantations, invocations, sigils, rituals, spells, and prayers are based on pantheons and traditions older than most modern religions, but I've found that the book also relies heavily on Sumerian cosmology and spirituality," she says.

"Isn't Sumerian religion thought to be the basis and inspiration for most modern religions, including Judeo-Christian beliefs?" Sam asks, cutting himself a piece of cherry pie, the rich aroma filling his nostrils. He knows Dean will be pleased.

"Yes," Eloni says around a mouthful of pie. She swallows, sips from her coffee before continuing. "That's why many of the themes you'll find there are replicated throughout several religions. We even see it with Cthulhu. Think of Tiamet or Dagon of Babylonian mythology. Or the Leviathan of Christian mythology. Legendary sea gods representing chaos and destruction."

"Are they all based on the same creature?" Dean asks, pouring himself and Cas cups of coffee.

"Many of them, possibly yes," Castiel breaks in, taking his cup of coffee from Dean and sipping at it slowly before adding, "Some represent the same primal, chaotic cosmic force, just renamed by different religious traditions. But that's not always the case for all of the Great Old Ones. There are times when many of these are separate deities, whose powers simply manifest in similar ways."

Sam recalls the Sumerian rituals and rites of purification and invocation they've used many times in their line of work. "But for the gods that represent the same forces across traditions," he says, understanding dawning, "it would explain why so many rituals and protective sigils that are based in this overarching Sumerian belief system work across the board, right?"

Eloni taps a finger on the cover of the _Necromonicon_. "Exactly," she says. "And another thing that's true across all traditions: the fact that so many ancient, malevolent gods are constantly striving to break into our world through a gate or door that leads from the outside in. They are waiting for the age of the old gods to begin anew. In the case of Cthulhu and the Great Old Ones, their followers are always looking for ways to open the gates. Or to take advantage of an opening that already exists."

"The rips between the worlds," Castiel says, eyes widening. "We've seen them happening in many places across the globe. It's what these deities are using to come through."

Dean hands Sam a fresh cup of coffee, and Sam lifts his cup to his mouth and watches his brother over the rim as he drinks. Dean looks worried, his eyes clouding over as he glances at Castiel. After a beat, Dean pushes his half-empty plate away with the tip of his fingers. He leans back and drums his fingers against his coffee cup. "And they're not stopping."

There's a moment of heavy silence, and Sam feels his belly twist uncomfortably. He sucks in a breath and releases it, turning to look at Eloni. "Where does this connect with the modern pantheon?"

"Well," Eloni says, picking at the crumbs on her plate. "The Old Ones are said to be the basis of our subconscious fears of the dark, of the unknown. The reason the Christian Devil came to personify symbols such as the Dragon and the Beast is because these were archetypes ancient cultures were already familiar with. These symbols were the powerful gods that represented chaos before Christianity's rise." She continues by reciting: "'And I stood upon the sand of the sea, and saw a beast rise up out of the sea, having seven heads and ten horns, and upon his horns ten crowns, and upon his heads the name of blasphemy.'"

"They named the devil after a collective memory of a great evil that had already been thrown into the underworld," Sam says, shaking off the image of Lucifer in the form he had known him by in the Cage.

"But," Dean says, tossing his napkin down and leaning forward, pressing his knuckles against the table. "Where did these 'gods' even come from?"

"The Great Old Ones, according to legend, were the original inhabitants of the world," Eloni says. "They were a giant primordial race of ancient deities that ruled the Earth."

"Like the Titans," Sam offers, sipping from his cooling coffee.

Eloni bobs her head. "Same story, different tradition."

Castiel looks up, brows furrowed as if deep in thought. His voice is low and rough when he finally speaks. "We were taught that the Great Old Ones came before the creation of humans, angels, and other monsters and beasts. They were among the first creations of the Father. They were powerful, strong, and destructive. But they were too powerful. They threatened to consume and destroy everything in my Father's creation, so he banished them to the darkness."

"The first origin story. This is why across cultures there are so many stories of chaotic entities trapped for the good of the world, cast into the sea or the underworld and locked away," Eloni says.

Dean clears his throat, rubbing a hand behind his neck. He looks at Cas for a long moment before looking at Sam and Eloni. "So, you're telling me we're dealing with things older than angels?"

Castiel meets Dean's eyes and nods. "Before Satan, there was Cthulhu."

Sam leans back in his chair, closing his eyes. _Damn_.

"Cthulhu: the beast who would rise from the sea at the Apocalypse," Eloni says, voice somber and prophetic. "At the right time, when the stars and the earth were rightly aligned, some powerful force from outside would liberate him, and he would come to reclaim his kingdom."

Dean's nursing his second beer as the sun begins to set. Head still spinning with information, he walks barefooted along the cool wood floors of the long corridor until he reaches the bedroom he and Cas dropped their stuff in. The fading evening light spills into the room, soaking the white walls in a deep amber. He sets his bottle on a side table, and settles down on the bed, stretching out and leaning his head back against the soft decorative pillows. The fabric smells of salt and sun, warmth beyond warmth.

Dean closes his eyes for a brief moment, but then quickly opens them when he hears a shuffling noise. He had thought he was alone, but now he notices movement through the french doors leading out onto the balcony. Ah, he'd thought Cas was still hanging out with Sam touring the grounds. But it looks like he'd come upstairs too. Dean manages to pull himself out of the too-comfortable bed and head for the balcony.

It's spacious and huge, expanding the full length of the suite and overlooking the tranquil cove and white-sand beach. In the center, a set of cushioned wicker chairs cluster around a wrought-iron table. At the far end, he sees Castiel doing a series of stretches, probably starting on the set of workouts Dean often finds him doing in the early hours of the morning when the angel thinks everyone is still asleep.

Dean doesn't head his way, not wanting to disturb him. Instead he leans against the rails that surround the balcony, sips on his beer, and soaks up the nice view. It's a breathtaking panorama of land and sea. Over to the left, the sky is painted in pinks, golds, and violets, and the beach is surrounded by massive cliffs. It's paradise, really, but they're not here to enjoy it, even if a part of Dean wishes they could. Off to the right is the far expanse of the grounds, its large palms swaying with the breeze flowing in from the sea. He knows Sam probably fell asleep reading by the pool, but part of Dean still wonders if he's getting enough sleep. Medication and meditation have helped to ease back hellish memories, but Sam's still got far to go. And Dean's worried that all this talk of beasts and the underworld might have stirred up too many things.

A sea breeze combs through Dean's hair, pressing coolly against his heated face. He closes his eyes, tries to not think about the mission just for a moment. Tries to concentrate on the sounds of heavy breathing coming from Castiel. After a few long moments, Dean opens his eyes and turns back to look at Cas, watching how the dying sunlight kisses shyly against his muscled back. Sweat shines in the dip of the angel's hips, and his movements are slow, thorough, long limbs stretching up to the sky as he arches his body in a way that Dean finds almost impossible.

In the last few months, Castiel has learned how to work his body to its maximum. Dean's seen the changes in the way he moves, when they work out together, and when they fuck. Cas is pure force and energy confined in human form, and he's learned to use his human body like an extension of his power. Even now, looking as human as he does – barefooted and shirtless, narrow hips just barely holding up his well-worn sweatpants, lean muscles moving under his smooth skin – he seems to radiate awareness and strength. He appears at home in his body, in his skin, in a way that not even Dean has learned to master himself.

Watching Castiel move, the pure balance and control he shows off as he shifts from one position to another, is strangely relaxing. Dean feels the tension of the day begin to ease away. He leans on the railing and closes his eyes as the wind washes over the balcony and strokes his face like invisible fingers. It's only a few moments before he feels Castiel step up behind him, wrapping his arms around Dean's waist, pressing his front to Dean's back, and settling his face against Dean's neck. "Hello, Dean," the angel whispers, breath puffing warm against Dean's neck.

Dean sucks in a breath, and he doesn't fight when in the space of a heartbeat Castiel catches him by the elbow and spins him around so that they are facing each other. "What's wrong?" Castiel asks him softly.

"Nothing," Dean murmurs as Castiel smoothes the back of his hand over Dean's cheek.

"Don't lie," Castiel says, voice low and rough, but he doesn't say anything more, just rests his hand there against Dean's face. Watches and waits.

They're quiet for a time, and Dean listens to the surf for a long while before he swallows and finally says, "What the hell are we even doing out here, Cas? What makes us think we can go up against something that even God knew to lock away?"

"Because we must," Castiel says simply, his fingers brushing against Dean's forehead in a soothing motion, and for another another long moment there is only silence between them, stretching all around them, blocking out even the noise of the lost world they've stumbled into.

Dean's gaze flicks to Castiel's face, calm as the sea. "Why?" he asks.

"Because we couldn't live with ourselves knowing that we didn't try," the angel replies, voice as soft as the breeze. "Because you can't bear to see other people suffering. If there are people in need, you will work to save them."

Dean feels his face warm, and he swallows thickly, sighing. "You think too good of me."

Castiel places his palms over Dean's hips, curling his hands in the denim of his jeans. His eyes glimmer in the low light of the evening as he says, "I know you."

Dean looks at Castiel, the golden glow of his sweat-slicked skin, how the curls of his dark hair stick to his forehead. He reaches out and presses his hand against Castiel's stubbled cheek. "Maybe you do," he whispers. He leans forward then, his eyes sliding closed as he brushes his lips softly against Castiel's own.

Castiel lets out a low rumble, pulling Dean close, his teeth sliding over Dean's bottom lip as he opens to the kiss, dragging a slow, broken moan from Dean's throat as their chests press together. When their tongues meet, Dean can feel something inside of him catch fire, and the air feels charged with it, charged with heat and life and everything between them.

"Goddammit, Cas," Dean breathes out, struggling to find time for air and words around the slide of Castiel's warm lips.

"Language," Castiel chides, dipping in to suck at Dean's neck as Dean runs his hands along the smooth skin of Castiel's bare back, his fingers getting caught in the elastic of Castiel's ratty sweats, dancing below to the warm skin underneath. Castiel rarely wares underwear, a fact that amuses Dean as much as it turns him on.

It's always a surprise, the way Cas responds to his touch, surging up to wind his arm around Dean's neck and pressing him back against the railing. He fits them flush together, mouths and chests and hips, as he takes everything he needs from Dean, and offers back just as much.

For a long time, against the backdrop of the setting sun and the sound of the ocean, it's just them: slick lips and warm tongues and needy hands. Dean doesn't know how long they've been there when they eventually slow down, and their kisses become sloppy and lazy and sleepy.

Dean lets his head fall against Castiel's shoulder, resting in the crook of his neck. Castiel moves one hand from Dean's hips to his back, as he nips at Dean's neck. His other hand runs through Dean's hair, softly rubbing along his skull. Castiel asks, "You're feeling better?"

"Think so," Dean mumbles against Castiel's warm skin, lips pressing against his steady pulse beat.

Castiel smiles against his neck, but then he pulls away, grabbing both of Dean's hands and leading him back into their room.

"What now?" Dean asks him as Castiel lets him go and wanders off to claim his duffle, searching around for clothes.

"Shower," Castiel says, peeling off his sweats and folding them, and placing them on the dresser before meandering toward the bathroom, completely naked.

Dean smirks, stripping off his own shirt and settling on the bed to kick off his jeans as Cas starts up the shower. Dean slips off his boxers and stands quickly, making his way to the bathroom. It's gorgeous like every other part of this house, its yellow light bright and welcoming. The walls are painted a warm chocolate brown, and the huge shower wraps around the room, inlaid with hand-made and hand-painted porcelain tiles, the curved walls covered by multi-hued stones.

Dean retrieves soap and towels from the bathroom closet before climbing inside the shower behind Cas, the spray from the showerhead hitting his skin in smooth, steady, soothing beats. The water's hot, but Castiel's hotter still, his long, wet body welcoming as Dean slides against him, licking the drops of water from Castiel's skin, running his hand over the smooth muscle of the angel's slick torso. The spray slams deep into Dean's shoulders, pounding out kinks he doesn't even remember getting.

"Tonight we need to rest," Castiel whispers in his ear, close enough that Dean can hear him over the pounding pressure of the shower. "We don't know what we will find out there. We have to arm ourselves with everything we need to fight the Old Ones. There's so much we still don't fully understand about what's happening. But we need to be prepared for every possibility."

Dean blinks, beads of water sitting heavy on his eyelashes. He bites at his bottom lip, listens to the hard beating of water against tile, of his heart against his ribcage. "I know," he says.

They don't say anything else, simply showering together. Dean gets lost in the feel of the hard planes of Castiel's body shifting against his own, in the softness of Castiel's hair as he works soap through it. Dean braces his forehead on his arm, leaning heavily on the wall of the shower when Cas kneels down in front of him and takes him into his mouth. Dean bites his lip hard to choke back the sound of his moans. Castiel's hands are warm and strong pressing into Dean's hips, holding him tight as Dean comes undone.

An hour or so later, Dean finds himself in bed naked, propped up on fancy pillows and buried under blankets. Cas strokes his hand over Dean's bare belly, fingers trailing along his abs before working their way up to Dean's chest, tracing some invisible protection sigil over his heart.

"There's no way I have the power that I need to protect you against what's coming," Castiel says, voice gone soft in the evening quiet of the bedroom. "It won't be safe for any of us."

"But we knew this going in," Dean says quietly, truthfully. He wraps his hand over Castiel's wrist where it rests against his heart. Castiel flattens his palm across Dean's chest, as if he needs to feel the steady press of Dean's heartbeat against his skin.

"We could lose everything," Castiel whispers.

Dean nods, eyes closing against the thought. "I know."

"No matter what happens, I'll stay by you through it all," Castiel says, sounding for all the world like he's taking a solemn vow.

Dean's silent for a long moment, trying to fit emotion into a set of reassuring words. All he manages to say is, "You don't have to do that."

Castiel raises his head and looks up at Dean intently then. The sun has set, and the pooling shadows of the room make his face hard to read. "Dean, I know where I want to be." The angel brings his hand up and touches Dean lightly on his shoulder, fingers tracing over his fading brand. "By your side."

"Cas," Dean says, his gaze mapping over the angel's face, taking in Castiel's tired blue eyes and dark, rumpled hair, his chin full of dark scruff because he always forgets to shave. Dean's heart feels like it wants to escape his chest, hurts enough that one would think he's having some kind of attack.

Dean sucks in a breath, smoothes his palm across Castiel's chin. Shakes his head. They've only been doing this for a few months, really. So he shouldn't expect to have all the answers, know all the right things to say. Or really maybe they've been doing this for years, and they still can't seem to get their act together. Those five years they spent moving themselves into each other's orbit, not knowing what to call the other – friend, brother, charge, something more, something different. Maybe they were even doing this in those long weeks or months or years they shared together in Hell, ones Dean still can't remember. Even after all these months, these years, these lifetimes together, Dean wonders if it'll ever stop feeling too good to be true, like some Djinn reality that will suddenly end. Because even though Cas once said the words, Dean finds it hard to believe: _Good things do happen_.

Not to him. Not to them.

"I know where I want to be too," Dean says after a time, rolling them toward the center of the giant bed, legs tangled beneath the silk-soft sheets.

Castiel pulls at Dean, slack mouth and shining half-lidded eyes. "I'm glad," Castiel whispers to him. Dean wraps his arms around Castiel's shoulders, tucking his head into the crook of the angel's neck.

Sometimes Dean thinks about how crazy this thing between them really is. It's one more thing for him to lose, one more thing to shake his world apart if he takes the wrong step. He knew how to operate when it was just him, Sam, and the open road. He knew what the rules were, what his responsibilities were ( _take care of Sammy_ ), and he knew never to get too close to other people because that might mean he couldn't do his job right. But then came Cas, and fuck it, the angel has made some pretty shitty mistakes, but he's been there for Dean too, fought to protect him, Sam, and Bobby. Despite everything they've seen and done, despite the horrors they've had done to them, Cas stayed.

Dean's heart aches again; it feels like a hand is squeezing it so tight he can't breathe. Shit. Their life is too much to handle alone. Fate. Destiny. The end of the fucking world. Being alive when everyone around you keeps dying. It's too damn much.

"Stop thinking," Castiel says, and Dean does, the feel of the angel's naked body enough of a distraction from the weight of troubling thoughts.

Dean tastes the soapy tang of Castiel's skin (Eloni had stocked the bathrooms with some sort of homemade almond oil and aloe soap that Dean loves the smell of on Castiel). Dean sinks into Castiel's warmth as the angel presses them closer and closer, finding all the ways they fit together, slotting them where they belong, connecting them.

Castiel's body under Dean's hands is a solid comfort, something he can hold on to and map with fingers and lips. Relaxed and pliant beneath him, Castiel rolls onto his belly and lets Dean kiss down his spine. Dean's tongue smoothes over Castiel's ass and thighs, slides into the crease between his cheeks, slicking there in a gentle circle. He mouths along the thin skin before pulling his body up and kissing back across the tanned expanse of Castiel's muscled back.

When Dean slinks back up beside Castiel, he presses his front to Castiel's back and moves his hand across his chest.

"Dean," Castiel whispers as Dean lines up their bodies and rubs against him slowly.

Dean sucks on Castiel's neck, smoothing his hand down across the angel's belly before wrapping it around his cock. Cas leans back into his chest as Dean cups his balls in his palm, squeezing them gently, before jacking Castiel's dick in long, soft strokes. His own dick is slippery, thick, and hard against Castiel's back, pushing and sliding as they move together. Cas whimpers with the motion, squeezing Dean's cock between his thighs, and in no time Dean's humping and spilling down Castiel's legs.

Castiel gasps when Dean's hand speeds up on his cock, sliding along the shaft, fingers playing at the head, and his thumb spiraling in the way he knows Castiel loves. They're both panting as Cas tilts up, falls back into Dean, and comes with a shuddering _Ah-ah-ah_ , ropes of thick come spilling in Dean's hands. Dean presses his lips against the warm space behind Castiel's ear, whispers _I need you, Cas_ , before Castiel twists himself around, circling Dean's face with his warm palms.

Castiel stares at him for a long moment, fingers still against Dean's cheekbones, his bright eyes mapping Dean's face. "Come here," he whispers, and then kisses Dean, hard and with an edge of desperation.

Dean moans low into Castiel's mouth, his spent cock throbbing against Castiel's own. Castiel draws him in, sucking gently at Dean's lips, his hands steady on Dean's hips and shoulderblades as they lose themselves in the kiss. Dean feels like he's never been this raw before, so peeled back and broken open. Like he's never put so much at risk. Lying with Cas in the dark, at the edge of the world, so far from anything and everything he's ever known. Naked and unmasked. Quiet and content.

A little while later, after they've kissed and whispered to each other in the way they sometimes do late at night, they change into warm pajamas and curl around each other in bed. Dean rests his head against Castiel's shoulder, breathing easy as Castiel runs his hands through his hair. "I choose all of you," Castiel whispers, his breathing heavy with sleep, and Dean closes his eyes and wonders if this is what it's like to fall.

Dean wakes to the scratchy feel of sand under his skin, to the roar of the ocean in his ears. He's really cold, a salty dampness snapping at his skin and seeping in through his pajama pants and t-shirt. He blinks his eyes open at the feel of a cool breeze, because _what the hell?_

With a groan, he pulls his cramped body inward as he sits up and looks around, eyes widening as he instantly recognizes his surroundings. He's laid out on the beach: the little moonlit cove he could see from the bedroom window, to be precise. He turns toward the direction of the villa, wondering how he got that far. He remembers falling asleep, wrapped around Castiel. And it's still nighttime, late if the blue-black expanse of night sky and the sharp glow of the moon are anything to go by.

Dean pinches himself just to check if he's dreaming, but the corresponding dull pain in his arm makes him frown. His entire body feels grimy and numb from the chill as he climbs to his feet and dusts off his pajama bottoms. _How'd he get out here?_ And better yet, where were Sam and Cas?

He looks back toward the house one more time, breathing in the thick smell of sand and briny sea. He then steadies himself on his bare feet, his toes cushioned by the soggy sand, and turns around to look toward the encroaching sea.

Dean pauses, squinting when he sees movement along the distant shoreline. There's something standing out there, moving into the water, a flicker of white against the waves. Something inside of Dean leaps at the sight, taking his breath away. He moves quickly, feet sinking into the sand as he runs toward the ocean. The salt spray wets the bottom of his pants as he steps closer to the water. He frowns, watching the waves crash against the beach, the high tide drawing the water nearer and nearer. The mist from the sea foam sprays his face, and he tastes brine on his lips. He squints his eyes against the darkness and steps toward the edge of the sea; the water crackles and whispers over his feet before a wave surges and breaks across his legs.

The ocean is so dark it looks nearly black, but the full, fat moon sits in the center of the sky, shining a torchlight across the rolling surface. It's more than enough light to see now, enough to understand. Dean knows what's out there, can feel it in his bones, the same soft, urgent tugging that drew him to Castiel in Purgatory.

"Cas," Dean whispers, eyeing the still figure nervously. The angel's shirtless, in just his pajama pants, and he's standing about knee-deep in the shallow surf, the waves coming up to his thighs as they crash toward the shore. He's staring out to sea, as if completely enraptured by it.

Knowing that this has to be one of Castiel's trances, Dean reaches his hand out instinctively and calls out to him. No reaction. _Of course not_ , Dean thinks, trying again with, "Cas, man, you gotta snap the fuck out of it! I'm so not kidding this time! I'm gonna kick your ass if you don't snap out of it!"

The wind seems to capture his words, tossing them out to sea. The tumbling waves in the distance sound loud to his ears. Dean moves closer then, legs getting swept up in the crashing water. Only a few feet separate him from Castiel now, and Dean watches the angel for a long moment: his body is stiff and rigid, muscles tight and wired. As Dean thinks on the best plan of action ( _rush at him or wait it out?_ ), Castiel begins to rock slightly to and fro in that familiar way he's done before, and his soft, freaky chanting begins to fill the night, loud and louder as his voice carries over the roar of the ocean. Like a call into the night, the chant is dark and wild, and it pulls at something deep inside of Dean. Makes him think he hears something answering back from the sea.

 _Fuck_.

Dean swallows and nods jerkily, rubbing his hand over his face to wipe away the dampness. "Please Cas, don't do this," he urges loudly. "Not now, not here."

From this distance, Castiel's movements look controlled, but just barely, like he's on the verge of combusting, all this power leashed and bound, but straining to be free. His chants grow stronger, more complicated, taking on new patters and rhythms and words Dean doesn't recognize from the times before. Castiel has always had a low, guttural voice, but his words now seem otherworldly, changed into something darker, deeper. Older.

"Cas…" Dean hopes that the name alone is enough to pull Castiel back this time, but he knows deep down this will take more, like all the times before. So much so that when Castiel lowers himself into the water, Dean's ready. "Oh, hell no!" he yells, his long legs bounding over the waves as he moves to grab Castiel.

When Cas goes under, Dean moves into a running dive, launching himself into the water. The sea's icy coldness shocks his system as he grabs Castiel by the waist and chest in a tackle that brings them both under the surface. The fast current tugs at Dean's body as he struggles to maintain his hold on Castiel, who's still rocking, although his chanting has turned into gurgling as they shift and surge with the water.

For a moment they break the surface, gasping. Dean sucks in a chilling breath that makes his lungs hurt, clinging harder to Castiel's squirming, wet body as he moves them into a swim. There's another struggle as Castiel tries to pull away, and for a moment they go under again, and it feels like the sea's dark shadows are pulling them down and down.

Under the water, it's too dark to see, and Dean's lungs burn with the need to breathe. It's instinct that makes Dean fight back, grab, push, and yank at Castiel the same way the angel had gripped him in the crypt at Paraty, until they're heading toward the surface again, bursting through the water, spluttering and coughing, mouths full of water. They float there for a moment, bodies moving together at last.

"Castiel, it's me!" Dean manages to groan out after he's sucked in enough air. He repeats Castiel's name again and again until Castiel finally stops fighting him, going limp in Dean's arms.

"Come on man," Dean whispers, holding on to him as he moves them through the water and back toward the shore. He isn't even sure Cas can hear him, if he's even conscious at all, and he feels his stomach drop when he thinks about how he could have lost him to the sea again, like he almost did in Paraty.

The chill of the sea cuts deep to the bone, and Dean struggles to keep his and Castiel's heads above the water. Striking out with long strokes and fast kicks, Dean swims with Castiel in his arms. He's a good swimmer, always has been. Sam had tried to convince him to try out for the swim team with him once in high school, but team sports were never Dean's thing. He was too much of a loner, had too many responsibilities, never fit in at most of the schools he went to. Concentrating now on the line of shore in the distance, Dean guides them back in the direction of the beach to shallower waters, letting his arms and legs pull them forward, moving with the current in the way he'd been trained. He concentrates on the feel of water sliding up his calves and thighs and chest, tries not to think about Castiel's silence and stillness.

Dean eventually reaches the beach, dragging Castiel's limp body with him. He spits out seawater onto the sand and shivers, his t-shirt and pants soaked as the water laps around him. Wet, cold, and shivering, Dean pulls Castiel onto the driest sand he can find and kneels beside him. He checks Castiel's vitals, sees that he's breathing steadily, and lets out his own relieved breath. Dean then spends a long moment trying to come back to himself, eyes closed, inhaling and exhaling. Just breathing.

Then he opens his eyes, the brilliant night sky washing over him in dark grays and blues. He tracks his eyes over the spill of silver moonlight dancing across the surface of the ocean and then back toward Castiel.

Castiel, who's blinking up at Dean. The angel is watching Dean with an intense gaze, a light, inhuman cast to his eyes.

"Cas?" Dean asks, placing his palm over his brand on Castiel's chest. "You all here?"

"Dean," Cas rasps out, low and breathless, his hand coming up to tighten around Dean's arm.

"You're okay, we're okay," Dean says, trying to reassure but knowing he sucks at it.

"What happened?" Castiel asks, pushing himself up carefully, sand falling in clumps from his back.

Dean opens his mouth, then closes it, shaking his head. "Man, I don't even know. I woke up out here. And you were out here too, but in one of your trances. About to take a swim. I had to dive in after you."

"That would explain why we're both wet," Castiel says, frowning. He runs a hand over his wet chest, seemingly mesmerized by the sodden state of himself. "I was dreaming about the water," he adds, frown deepening as he turns to look at Dean. "I don't remember much, but I remember the sea. The ceaseless pull of the sea."

"Cas…" Dean stops, not knowing what exactly to say. He presses his fingers into his eyes and tries to clear his mind, but all he can think about is how he's about to lose Cas and maybe Sam too if they can't find out what's happening and stop it. Dean's whole body shivers; he's aching and cold from the nighttime exertion, and he just wants to sleep and for Cas to be alright.

But he's not alright. None of them are.

Castiel looks up at him, lashes wet as he blinks. "I think I must have transported us out here in my sleep. We were holding each other last night, and I must have taken you with me when I moved. I'm sorry, Dean."

"Jesus, Cas," Dean grunts, running a hand through his wet hair, spiking it up. He shivers again. "Instead of just sleep walking, now you're sleep teleporting?"

Castiel stares at him, head cocked in a way that is so much like the Cas of old, something inside Dean swells. Dean swallows hard, turns his head away from Cas. Slowly, painfully, he looks out at the sea. Black and infinite. Easy for someone to get lost in. "I almost…if I hadn't woken up…" He blinks against the heavy tightness in his chest, the fist strangling his heart. "Goddammit, Cas. This can't keep happening," he says softly. _Please_.

Castiel makes a strangled sound, his hands coming up to Dean face, as he says, "Look at me."

Dean is shaking again, from the cold or the adrenaline, he doesn't know. He just feels ready to collapse. The sand is damp and rough, but he falls forward into it anyway, pulling Cas against him and shivering because Castiel's bare skin is like ice.

"I'm sorry," Castiel whispers against his neck, and Dean can't figure out what he's apologizing for anymore, can't figure out what the hell's happening anyway, and he can't get a sense of how any of this is going to end well. All he knows is that right now they need to get moving, get warm. Get away from the blackness of the sea.

Castiel wraps his arms around Dean tighter, breathing in time with Dean now, puffs of warm air pressing against Dean's neck. Dean's still cold, but he's finding it hard to get up, despite the goosebumps on his skin and Castiel's. But he knows they have a long journey ahead of them, and they have to be at their best, their healthiest. No catching colds when they have to fight a mythical sea beast.

"Cas, let's go inside," Dean says after a long moment, coaxing Cas onto his feet.

"He's getting stronger," Castiel interrupts softly, his eyes honing in on Dean's, his hands gripping Dean's wrist. "I don't know how or why I know, I just do," Castiel continues, and his voice is low, urgent, and rough in all the ways Dean has come to love.

Dean doesn't say anything, just leans in, and Cas meets him halfway, touches their lips together and then licks at Dean's bottom lip, before pulling away and looking back out over the dark water. "We're so close. I can feel it."

Dean follows his gaze to the water, to the flat surface of the ocean, and he has the strangest sensation, shivering for an entirely different reason than cold or adrenaline. Castiel's hand brushes his, wrapping their fingers together, and pulling them closer as they begin the walk back to the villa.

Castiel is quiet all the way back to the house, and when they enter Dean momentarily feels bad for tracking water and sand across the nice wood floors. But exhaustion sets in quickly, and they stumble to their bedroom, barely awake enough to dry off and pull on clean sweats and t-shirts before curling around each other.

"I can't lose you," Dean whispers into the dark, too ashamed to say it to Castiel's face, so instead he says it into a pillow. Castiel is heavy behind him, warm and solid and close as he cocoons Dean from behind. He wraps an arm around Dean's waist and presses warm lips against the nape of Dean's neck. He says, voice low and quiet, " _Ego dilecto meo et dilectus meus mihi_." And Dean knows the words because Castiel has whispered them to him so often in the dark, so many times when Dean feels like he's going to lose it. It's from the Latin, Song of Solomon, 6:2, _I am my beloved's and my beloved is mine_.

Dean swallows so hard it hurts, and then reaches behind him, finding the back of Castiel's neck, yanking his face down and forward, twisting his own head to crush their lips together with enough force to send them both groaning. It's only a moment before Castiel climbs up on top of Dean, taking Dean's face between his hands and whispering to him between biting kisses, his words a mix of Latin, English, and Enochian, his breath hot like fire as Dean slides his hands up along the angel's thighs, grinding their bodies together.

Dean's hands eventually find their favorite spot on Castiel's hips, his thumbs brushing over the perfectly-shaped juts of bone there. Castiel's hands drop from Dean's face, and he slides one against Dean's shoulder, sending sharp points of heat through Dean's body as he presses into his brand, the place he first marked Dean as belonging to him. It's enough. For now, it's enough.

They somehow manage to sleep through what's left of the night. But they don't dream.

Over breakfast, Castiel looks tired, red-eyed, and pale, and Dean figures he's looking about the same way himself because Sam keeps shooting them both worried glances between bites of his bacon-and-cheddar omelet.

Truth is, Dean feels tense, like there's something underneath his skin, something waiting to burst out and strangle him. They eat breakfast quickly and in relative silence, and then head outside to pack up the Land Rover with Eloni and Tuk's help. It's chilly out, the grasses bending in the wind, the waves foaming on the shores. The sand glitters white like snow, and the sky is a paint-brush flicker of pink and blue. There's too much vibrancy for so early in the morning, and Dean has to turn away.

"Think we're ready to go?" Sam asks him while loading the last of their bags into the back of the Land Rover.

"As ready as we're gonna be," Dean says, raising his head to take in the horizon. The South Pacific sun beats down steadily, and when Dean yawns, he can feel the wrinkles around his eyes deepening. He's getting too old for this.

"What about you, Cas?" Sam asks.

Dean flicks his eyes toward the angel. Standing next to the vehicle while Sam and Dean rearrange their bags in the trunk, Castiel is quietly watching the distant coastline, face unreadable. Last night already seems unreal, a dream even, but Dean doesn't want to ask Cas about it, doesn't want to risk triggering a repeat episode.

Castiel turns to look at them after a long moment, head tilting as he takes them in. "I'm ready," he says before turning away again.

Sam shoots Dean a questioning look, but Dean shrugs, dropping the weapons bag into the trunk and settling against the side of the Land Rover.

"You sure you're doing okay, man?" Sam asks, bumping their shoulders together as he rests beside Dean and sips from his thermos of coffee.

"I'm fine," Dean says. "I mean…I just need us to find this weapon and to kill this sonofabitch."

"You make it sound easy," Sam says softly, frowning.

"Nothing's easy with us, man. I know it," Dean mutters, clearing his throat and looking back toward the house. By the front door he sees Eloni and Tuk laughing together, Eloni patting down Tuk's hair in a way that reminds Dean of Lisa with Ben. _God, Lisa_. That life now seems so far away, another dream that's fading the longer time passes. He can almost remember what their mornings had been like. Lisa shaking him awake after Dean had pressed the snooze button one too many times, her long hair falling over her face as she tickled Dean and sent them both rolling to the floor with laughter. Dean would follow her to the kitchen when she'd leave to start breakfast, teasing her until she burned the eggs. If Ben was staying with friends, Dean would lift Lisa to the counter, kiss her until they were breathless, his fingers tangled inside of her warmth, their breakfast forgotten.

Dean shakes his head. It's a fantasy of a life that he was never meant for. He sighs and turns to look around, catching Castiel watching him from his perch by the bumper. Dean heads over to him, placing a hand at his waist.

"Hey," Dean says, catching his eye.

"Hello," Castiel returns, and something about the awkwardness of the moment makes them both smile.

Dean knows this thing with Cas is different: stronger and somehow more real than anything he's experienced before. But sometimes he thinks about what it would be like to be able to be safe in one place, to wake up next to each other and not have to worry about whether they'd survive the day. Cas is different, stronger too. He's the first person Dean's ever met that makes him feel solid, still; makes him feel like staying in one place. Makes Dean feel like he can be all of himself, completely.

The ocean is smooth and gray outside the windshield when they take off, but Dean doesn't look at it, looks instead at the place where his leg touches along Castiel's in the backseat, mapping the way their bodies curve into each other, the way they keep each other steady.

They take two vehicles, Dean and Cas riding in Eloni's Land Rover, while Sam rides with Tuk in a small pickup that the boy maneuvers expertly along the rocky coastal roads. Through the truck's window, Sam watches the green pastures that he's begun to associate with the island's simple terrain. There are a few hotels, restaurants, and cottages tucked up along the coastline and dotting the main road into town. The sea is never far away though; the surf sits a few hundred feet from the road, breaking against craggy rocks and pristine sand.

Sam rolls down the window and lets some of the warm air brush over his face. He never used to like the beach when he was a kid. He has an old memory of him and Dean getting stranded at one for days in South Carolina, hungry and cold as they camped out and waited for their dad. He remembers how lonely the sea made him feel back then, the cool stretch of it pulling him toward the sea serpents his ten-year-old mind imagined held domain at the bottom of the ocean. Of course, it just so happens those sea serpents turned out to be real. Even now, when Sam's a million miles from that beach, from his childhood, the sharp smells of damp sand and fish and salt are enough to take him back there. Sam closes his eyes and tries not to think too hard about the sea. About being left by his dad. About dying and coming back.

Another thirty minutes after leaving Eloni's villa, they arrive in Hanga Roa, Easter Island's capital city. It's a small seaside port town catering to the seasonal tourist trade. According to the _Lonely Planet_ guidebook Sam read on the plane ride over, the small harbor has a shipping service to Chile, but not much other industry. Surrounding the port is an open-air market, as well as a number of small shops geared toward tourists, offering things like Moai-inspired souvenirs and island tours.

From the window, Sam glimpses the town's unique architecture, small colonial-style buildings, storefronts, and paved roads that wind down toward the docks.

"We have a boat docked here that we use to visit the other islands," Tuk says as he steers the truck into a parking lot a few hundred feet from the pier.

"Do you really think we'll be able to find this other weapon?" Sam asks as Tuk parks the truck and turns off the engine.

Tuk meets his eyes for a moment, not saying anything. He places his hands in his lap and smiles softly before saying, "When my mother told me that you were coming, I couldn't believe it. I thought there would be no one in the world willing to fight what's coming. But here you are Sam, you and your brother, and the man who calls himself an angel. You've come to save us."

Sam runs his hand through his hair, looks away. "Yeah. We, uh, we're going to try. This thing…Cthulhu. It's unlike anything we've faced before."

Tuk glances at him, smiling crookedly. "Are you trying to say you've never faced a mountain-sized tentacled sea god before?"

Sam laughs, sharp and fast. "This will be our first."

Tuk laughs in turn, the laughter covering up the fear and unease, before opening the truck door and stepping down. Sam follows, eyes squinting as he takes in the line of boats moored at the docks. Only a few people are out and about, sailors, fishermen, and dockhands tending to their boats.

Sam inhales thick sea air when he steps onto the pier, cracking a smile when he sees Dean and Cas approaching. There's never much space between his brother and the angel, their shoulders and hands brushing as they walk side by side.

"Dude, did you see that Duck?" Dean says, pausing in his steps, eyes lingering on the jetty while he practically bounces on his feet.

Cas is watching Dean, looking confused, as he says, "Ducks are not indigenous to this region."

"Not that kind of duck, man," Dean laughs, shaking his head and pulling Cas closer so that he can see what Dean's talking about.

Sam follows them, squinting to see what his brother's pointing at so enthusiastically. And yeah, wow. There's a freaking _DUKW_ parked in the harbor, one of those amphibious transport vehicles used by the Allies during World War II, most famously on D-Day.

"General Motors designed like twenty thousand of these things during the war," Dean says, whistling, and showing off the sort of geek-boy wonder he gets whenever confronted by powerful, old, and complicated machines.

When Sam looks back at his brother, Dean is looking right back at him, smiling goofily, eyes clear green in the warm light. "This is kind of crazy right? I always wanted to drive one of those things," Dean admits, chuckling and shaking his head.

"Geek," Sam says fondly.

"Shudup," Dean says, rolling his eyes and pulling an amused-looking Castiel closer to him.

A moment later Eloni joins them on the pier, pointing out toward the water where Tuk is manning a small boat. "He's good with her," she says. "I call her the _Sea Goddess_. She'll get us where we need to go." They follow Eloni farther down the piers, lugging their bags along the way.

"Ready?" Tuk calls down at them from the pilothouse. "Dean, if you get the line, we'll be off."

Sam watches Dean hop into action, obviously excited by the prospect of untying ropes and playing at being a sailor. Tuk already has the engine going when Sam follows Eloni, Dean, and Cas onto the small vessel.

"And we're off," Sam comments, watching Tuk carefully maneuver the boat away from the pier, making ripples in the blue-green waters of the harbor.

"To the Sacred Lands," Tuk says, tightening his fingers around the wheel at the helm as the boat bounces over the green waves. "Where the map says the third weapon lies."

Bracing his hands on the railing around the deck, Sam looks out to sea, the endless blue skies and sparkling water. Breathing in the sharp brine of the surrounding ocean, a rush of something fills his body.

"We're close," Castiel says, suddenly appearing at his side.

"Close to the weapon?" Sam asks, watching as Dean settles beside the angel.

Castiel's gaze sharpens, and he says, "To Cthulhu."

"How do you know?" Sam asks, swallowing hard, his stomach twisting at the thought.

Castiel tilts his head slightly. "I'm not sure how I know. I just know."

Dean clears his throat pointedly beside them, and Sam frowns, but he doesn't say anything else. Both Dean and Cas have been acting weird all morning. Sam turns to watch Dean, who's staring off into the distance, shoulders tense and expression brooding.

They sail pass the neighboring islets, Motu Nui and Motu Iti. The bow of the boat cuts through the crashing spray gently, gathering speed as it parts the small waves. Specks of other tiny islands peek out in the distance, and Sam wonders about their names, about living somewhere so isolated from civilization. For a while there is no sound except for the roar of the boat's engine and the lapping of water. Sam leans a hip on the railing, watching the waves hit the side of the boat in a steady rhythm. Almost an hour later he catches his first site of approaching land, a tall, looming island that takes his breath away.

Watching the large landmass rise in the distance, fog completely smothering its coastline, Dean sucks in a deep breath. He tries to recall exactly what Eloni had explained last night in their planning session. The coordinates on the map found in the _Necromonicon_ lead to a chain of isolated, uninhabited South Pacific islands that Eloni has only visited once before, during an expedition. The islands are so remote that they don't get much exploration, not even by the more adventurous tourists and scientists.

According to Eloni, one island in particular, _Tu'ugamau_ , is said to contain the decaying ruins of an ancient, lost civilization. But no archaeologist has ever discovered the ruins – they are said to be hidden by protective magic. But the _Necromonicon_ has a ritual that could unlock the island's magic; it would reveal the ancient city where the last weapon is hidden. Eloni has never had reason to look for the city until now, but she believes it to be real.

A fine spray peppers Dean's cheeks, the ocean rolling underneath the boat. He turns to watch Tuk and Eloni at the helm, easing the boat toward the southwestern side of the island chain. Castiel is quiet beside him, but from time to time Dean feels the angel's hands linger against his own, knuckles brushing knuckles.

"There is something here," Castiel says softly, and Dean turns back to look at the looming island parting the mist. He sees a rocky coastline, a mass of trees creating a dense tropical rainforest that he guesses must span the island's interior, and lush, red volcanic hills that border the sea.

"It's like coming to the edge of the world," Eloni says to them from her perch at the helm, sweeping her arms across the stunning South Pacific waters. "This is the Laaki Azmalu. The Sacred Islands."

As they sail past the southern-most point of the largest island, Dean notices a circular reef and lagoon, and granite sands littered with palm trees and seabirds. Tuk docks the boat in one of the island's deep-water coves, and everyone spends the next several minutes unloading their supplies onto the connecting beach and taking stock of everything. The shadow of what Eloni calls Mount Luokla rises in the gloomy distance to the southeast, sheltering them from above.

"According to the text, the last artifact is located in the Temple of the Malama," Eloni says, pulling out several maps and passing them around to the gathered group.

Castiel examines his map and says, "And the Temple is said to reside in the lost city of Lagi."

"A city that no one has ever seen," Sam adds, settling on the ground beside his camping gear.

Dean snorts, his eyes following the map's hand-drawn replication of the island. "Because it's hidden by powerful magic."

"It's why none have survived to share stories of that particular lost civilization," Eloni says, and then goes on to explain that the city is supposed to be situated on the highest point of the island — in the dark, mist-covered Aumoe Mountains in the west.

Dean scans the surrounding area, making note of possible paths in and out, and estimating the trajectory of the journey inland. _Tu'ugamau_. The island is large and green everywhere Dean can see, and the surrounding sea is so blue it melts into the sky. Lush vegetation edges across the cove they've built their temporary camp in, and tall palm trees sway in the breeze coming in from the sea. Sunlight falls across the high treetops leading to the island's interior, flashing down through the leaves. Dean has to squint against the light as he says, "How long do you think it'll take us to reach the city?"

"We'll hike as far as we can today before making camp," Eloni says, setting aside a coil of rope and a medic kit. She takes out another water bottle and adds, "We'll need to make our way to the center of the island to perform the ritual, and I think that will take about two days at most on foot."

Dean eases down to the ground beside his own bag, reaching for the water bottle Castiel holds out to him. He sips from it and then asks, "You think finding this will be easy?"

"No," Eloni replies, voice honest. "But I do think we'll find it."

"If something doesn't find us first," Castiel says, running his eyes across the trees surrounding the cove.

Dean frowns, shooting him a curious glance. "Do you sense something?" he asks, hand moving to his gun.

"There is a darkness here waiting for us," Castiel says quietly. He takes a breath and adds, "It will not want us to succeed in our task." The angel's words are quiet, but his tone is hard, tense.

"Well, we'll just have to make sure it doesn't stop us," Dean says, meeting Castiel's steady gaze.

Castiel cocks his head sideways and asks, "How do we do that?"

"We kick it in the ass," Dean says simply, and Castiel smiles, something resembling fondness in his gaze. Dean returns the smile, feeling his cheeks flush.

"You're both adorable," Eloni says, casting them both a knowing wink.

"You'll have to excuse my brother," Sam interrupts with a soft chuckle. "He's been waiting to play Indiana Jones all his life. When he was thirteen, he bought his first bomber jacket, fedora, and bullwhip."

"Indy is the man," Dean defends, daring Sam to deny it. As if Sam himself hadn't dreamed of blazing through the jungle with a machete to uncover a lost city.

Sam puts up his hands, as if in surrender. "You're right about that," he agrees with a smirk. "You know as a kid I was always in awe of your childhood crushes. Especially the ones involving Harrison Ford. You'd get all breathless when you talked about him."

"Shudup," Dean groans, flipping Sam the bird and glaring.

"Dean is fond of strong heroic figures," Castiel chimes in, helpful as always, and Dean is really tempted to kick both Sam and Castiel's asses right about now. Tuk and Eloni seem to be enjoying the conversation though, watching them all with amused smiles.

"My brother does seem to have a type," Sam comments, snickering as he catches Dean's eye before waggling his brows in Castiel's direction.

Dean scoffs, eyes rolling. "I will end you," he grumbles at his baby brother's laughing face before decidedly ignoring him by pretending to search for something in his backpack. Where was the damn mosquito spray anyway?

"Okay, boys, leave Dean alone," Eloni says, throwing another knowing look Dean's way and dropping a bag of supplies at his feet. Dean releases a loud, put-upon sigh before Eloni laughs and continues with, "Let's make his day though and get started on finding this lost city."

They spend the next fifteen minutes reviewing their plan of action. It's still early enough to get closer to the center of the island before nightfall; there's enough time to find and fortify a good place to set up camp.

It's only another half hour before they're off. Dean begins the trek feeling ready: the team's backpacks are full of food, weapons, and camping gear. They don't know how long this will take, but they prepared for a few days' worth of travel. According to Eloni, most of the island's defenses are probably magical in nature, spellwork, curses, and the like, but Sam and Dean have packed more than enough monster-killing weaponry from Raúl's treasure chest in case anything unexpected pops up, especially given what Castiel senses on the island.

Castiel's eyes scan the landscape as they walk, his angelic senses probably reaching out, while Sam's eyes track over the road ahead as he flanks Tuk and Eloni's left side. Dean takes a breath deep enough to burn as he follows behind them all, guarding their rear. He doesn't know what to expect as he walks, one hand settled on the machete in his weapons' belt, his long fingers working along the curved edge, the other on his gun.

The jungle is thickly grown, covered with giant species of trees Dean's never seen before, some of them sixty feet high and more, darkening the day even though it hasn't reached noon yet. Dean's boots crunch over the rocky ground, trying to find the right foothold to avoid pits and thick roots, most of which are partly covered with weeds and moss. Water is everywhere, a system of streams and pools that feed into the heart of the island.

They walk for almost three hours, taking their time, picking their way cautiously through the dense lowland jungle, which is alive with sound and movement: the crowing of birds, the howling of monkeys, and the buzz of gnats circling their faces. Dean finds himself measuring the size of the massive tree trunks in his head, wondering about the sorts of things he could carve from them. He thinks he could build enough furniture to fill an entire house from just one tree. Everyone is quiet mostly, although once in a while Castiel names the variety of tropical birds, monkeys, spiders, and snakes they come across, while Tuk and Sam drink in the information like eager students.

Dean breaks out the machete once they start getting into wilder territory, taking the lead for the next few miles as he chops at the tree limbs and thick flora blocking their path, watching the others follow suit. Strands of misty light filter down through the dark canopy of trees above them, but it's gloomier and darker the farther they get into the forest. He's sweated through his layers by the time they take their second break, sitting around each other and gulping down water from the canteens.

"Did you see the size of those flies?" Sam asks, stomping his boots on the ground in an attempt to remove some of the mud caked on them.

"Size of fucking birds, man," Dean mumbles, tossing his backpack to the ground and digging out a towel to mop the sweat from his brow. Castiel looks unaffected by the heat; although partly fallen, the angel seems able to withstand the heat in a way he couldn't withstand the South Dakotan winter. He drinks his share of water though, his eyes continuously darting to the overhanging branches, ever vigilant in his watch.

"There are remarkable creatures in this ecosystem," Castiel says after a long moment of catching their breath, his eyes reaching out to make contact with Dean's. "Many of my Father's most beautiful creations have a way of surviving and adapting even in the harshest environments."

Dean looks away, clearing his throat, feeling too _seen_ by Castiel's gaze and pointed words. He fists his hands in his lap; his arm muscles ache and burn from the journey and from using so much pressure to hack his way through the underbrush for the past two hours. The evening swelters, and Dean closes his eyes to it, while all around him the air hums with the noise of insects and other creatures, a cacophony of sound that Dean's only known in the wilds of the southern United States.

"Another three miles, then we make camp," Eloni says after they've rested their legs.

"And we eat," Dean murmurs, following slowly behind Castiel into a narrow partition in the trees leading to the mist-cloaked foothills. They carefully pick their way over roots and around creeping vines, staying close as the ground grows rockier. Dean doesn't say anything when Castiel takes his hand part of the way up, helping him to lift himself up onto a rocky outcrop and surveil the area.

Castiel doesn't let go of his hand until they're another mile down the path, making their way toward the heart of the island.

"I pressed me close unto my faithful comrade,  
And how without him had I kept my course?"  
― Dante Alighieri, _Purgatorio_  


**II. The Initiation**

_Tu'ugamau Island_

They rest for an hour in the foothills of the Aumoe Mountains, but then pack up and head north through the trees. There's no trail, so they bushwhack their way through a jungle that hasn't seen a blade in years, and in its own way it's like doing battle with mother nature. They come away sore and bleeding, exhausted and worn-through. They make camp that night about ten miles east of the suspected location of the city. They find a natural clearing by a small stream after whacking through another mile of forest as the sky darkens. They unpack, set up their tents, and start a fire for dinner. Tuk dozes as soon as he hits the ground, while Eloni and Castiel share stories of their past explorations around the world, comparing their experiences of the people and cultures they've encountered. Dean's not sure what Eloni believes about Castiel's past, but she takes his angelic declarations all in stride, even going so far as to ask him about ancient texts she'd studied over the years.

"I can't believe that legend is true," Eloni says, looking stunned after Castiel finishes recollecting some ancient Babylonian battle that Dean didn't catch the name to.

"I was there as a witness, during the final battle," Castiel says, voice low and warm. "For my first mission, I was stationed on Earth as a guardian, watching over my charges for almost five thousand years, arriving at the beginnings of man's neolithic evolution. That was before I was assigned to my first garrison and sent into battle. It was another five thousand years before I would command my own garrison and be allowed to lead missions on Earth. That was after Anna fell…" He pauses, frowning. "She was my commander for a long time. We were friends. I learned many things from her."

Dean looks up, eyeing Castiel's troubled countenance. He wonders if Cas is thinking about how badly things ended with Anna. About betraying Anna to Heaven after he came back from Zachariah's angel boot camp. About the moment he chose to side with the Winchesters instead of her back in 1978. Does Castiel feel guilty about these things? Despite what happened in the end, for a time Anna had been their ally, and her actions, though misguided in her final days, had been done out of a love for humanity. Dean _knows_ Castiel learned a lot from her, about disobedience and choosing a different path; about going your own way. About giving up everything to protect a world you'd grown to love. Thing is, Castiel had a chance to come back from his mistakes. Anna never made it out alive. They've all lost too many friends and allies.

"She fell for so many of the things I have now experienced," Castiel says, as if picking up on what Dean had been thinking. He doesn't come closer, but his eyes find Dean.

"Loyalty, forgiveness, love. Every emotion, even the bad ones," Dean says, repeating words Anna had once told him when he had asked why she'd ever want to be human.

"I think about my old garrison from time to time," Castiel continues, voice low. "I can never return to Heaven. If I did, I would be killed. Rightfully so. I am Heaven's most wanted angel. There is still, as you would say, a price on my head."

Dean knows that all too well, ended one of the assassins himself out in Bobby's lot before inking the sigils that protect his friend into his skin. He places down the spoon he'd been using to stir the stew simmering in a pot over the fire. Sam is busy making coffee and cutting up pieces of bread to go with their meal, so Dean turns around and looks at Castiel again. "Cas, it was war. It…" he starts, but pauses at the look Castiel swings his way.

"I know what I deserve," Castiel says, voice sharp and terse now. "I know what I would do to someone who had done the things I did. The Host is right to send assassins after me." There's a fierceness to Castiel's gravelly voice now, and Dean closes his eyes, understanding that there is no room for argument here.

Castiel is on the other side of the fire, far out of Dean's reach. Dean's fingers tighten minutely around the canteen he'd picked up, before he places it down and stands up. Eloni comments about needing to check the wards around their camp again, and Sam mutters something about using the bathroom, but Dean knows the excuses are to give him and Cas a moment of privacy, something they haven't really had since leaving Easter Island.

Dean settles down beside Castiel on a fallen log, and for a moment he remembers another time, another place, seated side by side. The first time he'd heard Castiel voice his doubts. _I'm not a hammer, as you say. I have questions. I…I have doubts. I don't know what is right and what is wrong anymore, whether you passed or failed here. But, in the coming months, you will have more decisions to make. I don't envy the weight that's on your shoulders, Dean. I truly don't_.

"It's been a crazy few years, huh, Cas?" Dean offers, when the silence has dragged on long enough, the night slinking its way into their camp and shrouding them in murky darkness.

Castiel turns his head. He looks up, meets Dean's eyes for a long moment. Smiles softly and says, "They have been exceedingly remarkable."

Dean licks his lips, says, "Sometimes I can't believe we made it here, man."

"We almost didn't," Castiel says, holding his gaze for a long, heavy moment.

Dean swallows hard, says, "Yeah, we almost didn't."

They lock eyes for another beat, and Dean really has a chance to look at Castiel for the first time all day, taking in his mud-caked jeans, combat boots, faded green jacket, and dirty hands. There's something about the fallen angel that shines despite the grime, shines even through layers and layers of Dean's tattered old clothes. There's something about him that Dean's always recognized, like calling to like.

Truth is, they will both always be more comfortable with a weapon in their hands than with knowing how to talk to other people (even each other), or knowing how to fit into the world around them. They fit each other in so many ways, and maybe that's all that matters.

"I wish I knew what you were thinking just now," Castiel says abruptly, blue eyes tracking across Dean's face.

"I was thinking about you," Dean says quietly.

Castiel's silence draws long before he asks, "What about me?"

Dean turns away, rubbing his hands across his thighs. "Cas, the other night," he begins, letting out a long breath before continuing with, "Look, maybe I choose all of you too. Just so you know," he whispers, repeating Castiel's words back to him, hoping Castiel understands what he's trying to get at. "I think maybe I…"

Dean doesn't have a chance to finish his thought because Eloni reappears, eyeing them both carefully. "I don't mean to interrupt you, gentlemen," she says, sounding apologetic. "Castiel, I just needed you to check the sigils across the way. I think I did them right, but I wanted to be sure."

"Yes, I can take a look," Castiel says, standing quickly and glancing at Dean for a brief moment before walking toward the camp's perimeter.

Dean drops his gaze down to his boots, waits for Eloni to tell him what to do next. When she doesn't say anything for a few moments, Dean looks up and catches her watching the fire, a deep sadness in her eyes. "What's wrong?" he asks, concerned.

"You and him…you are close, right?" she asks, jerking her thumb toward where Castiel had disappeared into the treeline.

"Me and Cas?" Dean says, clearing his throat. "We're uh…." He's never quite figured out how to answer this question. _Boyfriends? Partners? Lovers? Really friggin' complicated?_

Eloni though doesn't appear to need an answer from him. She says, "He's your best friend, am I right?"

"Yeah, I guess he is," Dean admits, stretching his arms (still sore from the trek) and taking in a deep breath. _He's my best friend_ , he thinks. And ain't that something? If Dean's honest with himself, Cas is probably the first real friend he's ever had outside of Sammy. For so long, the angel had been like this weird mix of family, friend, and partner-in-crime that Dean didn't have a name for. He had always been _Cas_.

"He's your best friend," Eloni repeats, smiling softly, and then adds, "And he's the love of your life."

Dean's eyes widen, and he clears his throat again, kicking at a rock uncomfortably with his boot. "How did you know we…"

"Were together?" Eloni interrupts with a startled laugh. "You're pretty obvious when you're around each other. The touching, the looks, the thick cloud of adoration and longing," she says, watching him fondly. "Plus I married my best friend slash love of my life. We had Tuk and an amazing twenty years together. I know the signs."

Dean meets her eyes, frowning. This was the first time she'd mentioned Tuk's father. "Where is your husband?"

Eloni's face falls as she walks closer to him. "He died of cancer two years ago," she says softly.

"I'm sorry," Dean says, scooting over to make room for her to sit down beside him on the log. He hands her the flask from his jacket pocket as she situates herself. "I think you need this more than me right now."

Eloni sighs heavily, nodding as she accepts the whiskey and says, "You two sitting here reminded me of how we used to be on an expedition. We'd save all of our important conversations for the campfire."

Dean nods, glancing at the fire, watching the smoke billow and make its way toward the sky. The stew looks about ready; smells good too. "It's been a crazy year for us," he says after a beat, returning to the conversation at hand. "Cas and me…we're just now figuring things out."

Eloni nods, sipping from the flask with a grateful sigh. "It can't have been easy."

Dean looks up at her, arching a brow. Smirks. "'Cause we're both guys?"

Eloni laughs softly, shaking her head. "I was actually thinking about the angel-human thing, but I do get how your sex, gender presentation, and gender identity could complicate things as well."

Dean huffs a breath, shrugging. "It's just…"

"I'm not here to judge you, Dean," Eloni interrupts with a kind smile. "Anyway, I'm a historian. And there is one thing I can tell you for sure about human history: homosexuality has been present in every human civilization and in every culture since man began recording his story. It's more _normal_ than abnormal."

"Tell that to the assholes who beat up little kids for being gay," Dean says, and there's probably no mistaking the growl in his voice.

Eloni lets loose a sad sigh, nodding. "People can be so awful. They've always been awful," she acknowledges, offering Dean the flask back. Dean sips from it and nods his agreement.

"It's one reason they fascinate me so much," Eloni admits. "Humans are capable of such horrible things. But we are capable of such huge acts of love too."

"Maybe," Dean says, not sure if he believes it.

"If that wasn't true," Eloni offers quietly, "why would you work so hard to save them? You do it because you believe in the best of humanity."

Dean looks at her, scratches the back of his neck uncomfortably, and asks, "Did Sam tell you to Dr. Phil me?"

"Nope, I just sensed you needed to talk to someone," Eloni comments, cracking a teasing smile as she stands up. She points to Castiel, who's making his way back toward them. "I'll leave you to your best friend, now. And Dean, remember something: sometimes the stories of men who loved each other can even make their way down to obfuscating societies such as ours. I've been telling my son the story of Gilgamesh and Enkidu for years. Jonathan and David. Achilles and Patrocles. Alexander and Hephaiston. Men with deep bonds that went beyond friendship; warriors of legend who loved each other unto death."

Dean feels himself flushing, but he doesn't say anything. He just turns his concentration to helping Castiel set up dinner. Sam and Tuk join them soon enough, and then everyone's scooping out stew and soaking their bread in the flavory broth. The five of them eat in comfortable silence around the fire pit, relaxing and resting their tired bodies in preparation for the last leg of the hike in the morning.

Around them the night grows cooler, the sounds of the jungle painting the world in rich tones and melodies. All of it better than the silence in Dean's head.

"You good?" Dean asks Sam a little while later, coming over to where his brother's been practicing a combination of Chi Gong breathing techniques and some weird form of yoga for the past hour.

Sam does these breathing exercises at the start and end of every day, and Dean thinks it's helping him to focus better. Sam's getting stronger, more relaxed, more in control mentally. Before this he spent an hour pouring over research with Tuk and Eloni, and he didn't even break out in a cold sweat at the mention of Lucifer and the fall of the angels.

"I'm good," Sam says, smiling up at Dean as he stretches his long body forward. "I'm gonna do some more of these stretches, and then nap for a bit before taking the first watch with Tuk."

"Stay safe," Dean says, patting Sam on the back before shuffling over toward the tent he's sharing with Cas.

The campfire's still burning in the pit, and the smell of dinner lingers in the air. In the fog of firelight, Dean can just make out Castiel's shadowy form slipping between the flaps of their tent, and he follows him inside.

It's not long before the two of them are twined together in the small tent, blankets pulled tight around themselves, warm skin and slack joints aligning as they squeeze into a single sleeping bag (Cas didn't see why they couldn't just share one, and Dean didn't really disagree). They'd promised not to do much with the others so close by, but they slide together instinctively anyway, hands rolling beneath the hems of their shirts, jeans unbuttoned, tugged down around rocking hips. They can be silent and quick, a little something to tide them over until they take the second watch.

Dean wraps his hand around Castiel's head, brushing his fingers through the dark strands of his hair as their lips meet. It's all heat and light and fire between them, like always; a secret that could burn the world down. They lay tangled, pressing against each other, stroking warm skin, exploring quietly, their mingled panting breaths the only sounds they allow to slip out. They kiss until they're sore from it, until sleep edges in like the light of the moon through the trees above them.

Eventually Dean pulls out from under Castiel and turns on his side. The angel rolls onto his back, sound asleep, mouth parted slightly. Dean reaches out and places his hand over Castiel's chest and just watches him sleep for a while, both of them still snug and warm in their shared sleeping bag.

Dean doesn’t know for how long he lies there watching Castiel. But eventually he forces his eyes away and takes a moment to close his lids. He has to tell himself that Cas isn't going anywhere tonight. No sleep walking or sleep teleporting. No midnight dips in the sea.

Tonight they will sleep. And tomorrow they will find the weapon. Tomorrow they will be one day closer to having all their questions answered.

Eloni casts the circle with a few whispered words, a giant bowl of smoldering herbs cupped in her hands and held high to the sky. She chants toward each cardinal direction, calling on the elements. Beside her, Tuk pinches a dirt and herb mixture to the northern wind, repeating after his mother.

Dean watches it all with a wary eye, understanding that the ritual is the only way to _unveil_ the ancient city. They reached the center of the island about an hour ago, exhausted and sweaty from a long morning's trek. It shouldn't take them too long to reach the city once the magic is done.

Eloni's voice rises and Dean looks up as she chants, _"Ati me peta babka, peta babkama luruba anaku, zi dingir anna kanpa, zi dingir kia kanpa!"_

The herbs in the bowl seem to explode, throwing flame and light toward the blue sky. A sound like a low roll of thunder vibrates the air all around them. Castiel stiffens beside Dean, his hand coming up to rest protectively on Dean's arm. Everyone goes quiet, and Dean's hand clenches around his gun.

The air seems to get cooler, buzzing with a low-level electric static that makes Dean think of an old transistor radio. Dean shifts uncomfortably as he takes in the scene around them. The jungle looks the same as it did before: slants of sunlight dancing between vibrant green foliage, smoky-black earth that smells like the sea.

"It's done," Eloni says after a long, weighted moment, her body losing some of the tension it had carried for the past twenty minutes.

"What now?" Sam asks, his voice gone rough and uneasy. He's looking wide-eyed and a little spooked.

"We go west," she says, turning to look at each of them before pointing toward the fog-thick mountain peeks breaking through the distant treeline.

West is endless. A world of massive trees, intermittently broken by craggily rock formations. But the closer they get to their destination, the more everything seems to grow into a heavy silence. The normal sounds of the jungle calm, decreasing to a soft murmur, and then eventually disappearing all together.

They've been walking for about three hours when something shifts in the jungle around them. All of Dean's senses tingle, and he feels the sudden difference down to his bones.

"We've crossed the barrier," Castiel says from beside him, wide eyes shifting to take in the entire area around them.

Dean shifts, his hands coming up to his weapons bag. It's as if everything had frozen in time. The air itself feels still, absent sound, absent life.

"This has to be the place," Eloni whispers into the preternatural silence, taking the lead. Her rifle parts the tree limbs in front of them as they walk forward, moving from the thickly-packed jungle and into a wide, cleared grove.

About a hundred feet in front of them, the jungle ends at a deep, narrow gorge, at the bottom of which a river of sea-green water gurgles loudly as it rushes by, probably emptying into the sea somewhere along the coast. Connecting this side of the island to the next, there's a rickety old wood suspension bridge that spans the length of the ravine.

Dean frowns, eyeing it with trepidation. "I thought no one has inhabited the island for thousands of years."

"Wait, there's a bridge to a magical hidden city?" Sam asks curiously, coming up beside Dean. He fishes his canteen out of his pack and takes a long drink, eyeing the bridge dubiously.

"But remember people _have_ come here before, those who have been able to get around the magic. But they never returned to expose the island's secrets," Eloni says quietly. "The bridge looks at least a couple of decades old. But whoever built it is probably long gone."

"Something _is_ still here," Castiel says, voice carrying from the edge of the treeline where he's been circling the area. He pauses and looks at the bridge, walking slowly toward it, his steps measured, careful. He stops a few feet from the bridge, squinting. "What is that place?"

"The bridge?" Sam asks, frowning and moving closer to Castiel, and Dean follows behind.

Castiel looks Sam's way. "No, I'm referring to that building. It's some kind of temple I believe," the angel says.

Dean frowns because all he sees is more jungle, thick trees and curling vines. He settles beside Castiel, arms touching. "I don't see anything," he says.

Castiel furrows his brow. "The temple is large, Dean. It isn't something one could miss," he says, voice rough.

"Castiel, you actually see something? It must be the hidden gateway," Eloni says, sounding surprised. "The passage into the city itself."

"Why can't we see it?" Dean says, still disbelieving. He rubs at his eyes, blinks, and tries to see past the dense line of treecover again.

"Castiel's the one with the angel eyes," Eloni says, and there's excitement in her voice. "That means we need to break more of the island's magic. Give me just a moment."

Dean turns to watch her retrieve supplies from her backpack, setting up a quick and dirty altar in front of the bridge. Castiel's body is rigid beside him, the angel's eyes intently focused on the other side of the ravine.

"Come on, Cas," Dean says, taking his elbow and directing him to where Sam and Tuk are already circled around Eloni.

Eloni sets out a bowl of water, a bowl of salt, and four candles, which she places around her. She then casts a circle with a sprig of herbs, chanting quietly as Tuk creates sigils in the dirt with a stick.

"Peta babkama luruba anaku, lugal ù tud nam kalam ma tar ri," Eloni chants, voice rising and lowering rhythmically as she repeats the phrases over and over again, throwing spices and herbs into her bowl.

"Quod occulta est, revelare," Castiel whispers the moment Eloni stops chanting, his gravelly voice resonating in the post-ritual silence.

For a moment nothing happens, but then the candles flare bright blue and the air itself seems to shimmer before everything around them goes luminous, sweetly aglow. Dean closes his eyes against the sudden shift in light, and when he opens them, the world has returned to normal. Except. He sucks in a breath at the sight before him. "Oh, damn," he mumbles. Sam, Tuk, and Eloni seem to be having the same reaction, their eyes and mouths gaping wide.

Eloni gets to her feet with Tuk's help, smiling excitedly. "Looks like we've found the entrance to the lost city of Lagi."

Across the ravine, the trees appear to have parted, giving way to a large monument, towering over the hillside like some ancient guardian of the jungle. Untouched by the nature around it, the temple almost gleams in the afternoon sunlight.

"Damn," Dean huffs, dropping his pack by his feet and checking his weapons.

"The bridge looks solid enough to cross," Sam says from where he's now kneeling down at the foot of the bridge testing the boards and ropes. "It should hold our weight. But we should only take the necessities and leave our backpacks, tents, bedrolls, and extra supplies over here just in case."

Dean nods his agreement, joining Sam by the bridge and examining the state of the ropes and time-warped wood. He adds, "And we all go slow, just to be safe."

"Once we enter the temple, we have to find a door that will take us through into the rest of the city," Eloni says. "A portal."

"Mom, do you think the temple's warded?" Tuk asks as he finishes clearing the ritual supplies.

"I don't know," Eloni says, turning to Castiel to ask, "Do you sense anything, Castiel?"

Castiel frowns, his expression grim. "I can't get a read on the temple at all."

Eloni nods, seemingly unsurprised. "Then we go in ready for _anything_."

Dean climbs to his feet, eyeing the monument for a moment, the dark limestone breaking through the thick foliage. "Okay, then," he says, making a decision. "Cas and I will take the lead, heading in first, and Sam you follow behind Tuk and Eloni, guarding the rear. Keep the pace slow, and keep your weapons at the ready."

With nods all around, everyone falls into action. Dean pulls the weapons and supplies he needs out of his camping gear, loading up a messenger bag with enough ammunition to take out a small army. He watches Castiel do the same, smiling as he sees Castiel sling a sleek black bandolier across his chest. They brought that, along with Castiel's crossbow, in South Dakota from a weapons supplier Bobby's been working with for years. Dean turns to finish his own preparations, buckling on his thigh holster and adding a knife and a handgun to his hidden ankle holsters.

Castiel picks up a rifle, while Dean loads his Glock. Across from them, Sam's practicing with a pair of knives, while Tuk and Eloni fill their knapsacks with additional ritual supplies. Sam looks up and meets Dean's eye, nodding his way.

"Ready?" Dean asks them all. Everyone looks at him with grim determination, and he takes in a deep breath, holds it, letting it go as the tension eases out of him. A moment later Castiel starts walking, Dean following close at his side as they approach the bridge. Here goes nothing.

The planks are old, but the wood holds under their weight as they walk one by one across the divide. Dean doesn't look down, because _fucking hell_ , but he hears the loud, gurgling rush of the river beneath them, feels the rocking of the bridge every time the wind blows, hears the groans and creaks every time his foot comes down on a plank. He sucks in a breath and breathes it out, counting each second as it passes. He looks straight ahead the entire time, following Castiel's steady pace, and before Dean knows it, he's across. He's arrived.

The looming edifice grabs all his attention when he finally steps off the bridge. Shrouded by shadows and vines, the temple sits atop a steep incline, its stone spires reaching into the sky. Dean turns around to see Tuk, Eloni, and Sam crashing through the thick grove behind him, stumbling upon the temple and stopping in awe.

"Incredible," Sam says, shooting Dean a goofy smile. Dean snorts, shaking his head. Sam always had a hard-on for history. When they were kids, Dean use to stay up all night prepping Sam for his Quiz Bowl tournaments, and Ancient Mesopotamia was always one of Sam's favorite subjects. He smiles, watching Sam make bedroom eyes at a giant stone slab.

"Everyone okay?" Dean asks eventually, and they all nod. Only a few moments pass before they start to move again. In front of the temple is an open plaza, stones placed in the ground in an intricate pattern that Dean gives up trying to work out. Before them a staircase leads up to an arched doorway. Dean watches as Castiel approaches, kneeling down in front of the first step and touching the stone carefully. The angel closes his eyes and seems to commune with it for a moment, whispering something that Dean can't hear.

"Cas?" Dean says carefully, voice failing as his body tenses. He tightens his hold on his gun and takes a step closer. His throat constricts, but he's able to ask, "Are you alright?"

Castiel blinks and turns to look up at Dean, eyes shining with a light that isn't natural. "This city was built by followers of the Great Old Ones. We must be vigilant at all times," he says, voice gone almost breathless. "They may be watching."

"Watching?" Dean repeats, frowning at Castiel's behavior. He shakes his head, inhaling sharply as he gazes up at the limestone temple rising above the jungle before turning to look back at Cas, needing to know something. "You'd tell me if you felt one of your trances coming on, right Cas?"

Castiel frowns, coming to his feet. "Of course I would," he says, cocking his head and watching Dean closely.

Dean looks away uneasily, clearing his throat and turning to watch as Sam, Eloni, and Tuk settle beside them. "We should probably see what's inside, see if there's a way through this point to the rest of the city," he says. "But we should also keep a couple of people standing watch out here."

Sam's gaze flicks to Dean. "Why don't you, Eloni, and Cas go in first," he says. "And Tuk and I will act as a lookout."

"You sure?" Dean asks, catching his brother's eye and frowning.

"It makes sense," Sam reassures. "Cas and Eloni can handle any of the magic stuff that might come up inside with you, and Tuk and I can handle anything out here."

"Yeah, yeah, okay," Dean says, still uneasy about separating from Sam, but knowing Sam is strong enough to both hold his own and keep Tuk safe. "Just be careful, and if anything goes down, get to us as quick as you can."

"Same for you," Sam says quietly, grabbing Dean's shoulder and squeezing.

Dean nods, and turns to Castiel, who's staring at the door in silence. "Ready man?"

"Yes," Castiel says, slinging his rifle across his back.

"Let's take a look then, gentlemen," Eloni says, cautiously leading the way toward the entrance, while Dean and Castiel follow closely behind her.

The entrance is framed by a pair of thick stone pillars, and the door itself is carved with a pattern that Dean recognizes from the plaza floor, a set of spirals intersecting.

"What do you think it means?" Dean asks, fingers brushing over the design.

"The ocean," Eloni says with a smile. "The patterns look like the ocean."

"Yeah, it does," Dean says, seeing it now. He runs his finger along what he suspects is the crest of a wave. "On three, let's try to get this door open."

Together all three of them are able to press against the door, sliding it inward, the stone slab making a grinding noise as it moves from its closed position. It's not as heavy as Dean thought it would be, the stone worn away by age and disuse. He pushes his shoulder against the cool stone for a long moment, huffing a happy breath as it gives way and reveals the shadowy interior of the temple. There are enough openings in the stone walls that the inside is lit up with the afternoon sun, ribbons of light punctuating the shadows like stage lights in an amphitheater.

There are two stone pillars in the center of the room, and a stone altar against the farthest wall. Eloni approaches the altar, while Dean and Castiel watch on in silence. "This is the sister temple to the one we are seeking," she says, voice echoing in the silence of the room. "There could be clues here in the writing telling us where the artifact will be found inside the other temple."

The anteroom of the temple is wide, stone floors spanning about forty feet across. The room smells of age, musty and warm, a mix of mold, dust, and the mossy green of the jungle. Its stone walls are carved with images of the sea and with rows of glyphs that track from floor to ceiling.

Dean let his fingers ghost over the surfaces, feeling the cool, smooth lines of stone along the wall. He turns to face Castiel. "Can you read them?"

Castiel frowns, pressing his own fingers along the row of glyphs on the stone slab in front of him. "Several words are familiar to me. From what I can tell, this room tells the history of the city, of this civilization."

Eloni walks over toward them, saying, "The hieroglyphics are only partly known to me as well, but many are unlike anything I have seen, even in my studies," she says, fingers running over the inscription on a tall stone wall in front of her. "And many of these symbols are sea-based. Fish, eels, octopi, crustaceans, mollusks, whales, and the like, used to communicate ideas. This is an amazing find. Can you imagine the stories in this place?"

"Do you think there's anything here about Cthulhu?" Dean asks, running a hand over the wall before him. The stone here is smoother, worn through with time.

"I do. I think we need to read what's in this room, and we'll better know what to do once we find the Temple of the Malama," Eloni explains. "And we need to find a way through this temple to the rest of the city beyond. This is the gateway between the worlds."

Dean nods, scratching at his chin thoughtfully. "I can look for the doorway while you and Cas try a hand at translating everything."

Eloni nods her agreement. "Sounds good."

"Okay," Dean says before turning from her to look for Castiel. The angel's already on the other side of the room, sliding into a side corridor that goes off from the anteroom, and Dean has to jog to catch up with him. This isn't the time for Cas to go disappearing on them.

"Hey Cas, what—" Dean stops, pausing to track Castiel behind what had once been some kind of hidden door but is now just a slight opening in the stone, enough to fit one's body through.

The room they enter into is large, what Dean figures used to be some sort of library. It's filled with an array of ancient objects, scattered on the floors and on crudely-shaped shelving units. But in front of them is a raised area covered with stone tablets.

"I'll be damned."

Dean startles at the voice coming from behind him. He turns to see Eloni stepping into the room through the passageway. "This is where they must have kept the important things," she adds, voice sounding wistful. "Records, agreements, official histories."

Castiel is walking toward the center of the room, and Dean and Eloni follow him further into the chamber. As Dean passes a shelving unit, his eyes take in the rune stones, crude hand axes, knives covered in ancient symbols, jewelry, and large pieces of pottery that sit untouched on the surfaces.

"More unfamiliar glyphs and ciphers," Eloni says, reaching the platform covered in stone tablets. "This is like the first time I worked with the cuneiform clay-tablets excavated by archaeologists from the city of Uruk, in Sumer."

"Some of these look similar to the birdman petroglyphs we saw on Easter Island," Dean says, settling beside Castiel and Eloni in front of the raised platform.

"The languages share many common traits, which makes sense considering there had to have been trade and migration between these islands at one point in time," Eloni says. "How about Cas I work on deciphering some of these tablets." She turns to Castiel who nods his agreement.

"Yeah, that would be great," Dean says, watching as Eloni and Castiel carefully handle the stone tablets, knowing that each one tells a story, contains some secret to the past that could potentially shed light on the future.

"And I'll start searching for the through-passage to the city," Dean says, casting one last look at the stone tablets and Castiel's scrunched-up face as he attempts to read them. Dean smirks and turns to head back into the front chamber.

Dean covers the entire room in no time. He presses against the cool stone, checking for possible secret doors or passages to another part of the jungle. What he finds instead are a series of illustrations that run along the upper length of the room. He examines the markings closely, whispering. "This looks like a map. Could it be?"

Before he has time to answer, he feels a hand at his shoulder, and turns to see Castiel, looming into his personal space. The angel's face looks drawn, pale. His body is tense, and his eyes meet Dean's for a long moment, before turning away. Something inside Dean twists as he asks, "Cas, what is it?"

"I have translated the records here," Castiel says quietly.

Dean arches a brow and leans against the stone wall. "All of them?"

Castiel looks at Dean again. "Yes, all of them."

Dean laughs and says, "Dude, you read _all_ the stone tablets? There had to be hundreds."

Castiel shrugs. "Five hundred and seventy-eight to be exact."

"He's a machine," Eloni says, coming back into the room, tucking loose strands of her salt-and-pepper hair behind her ear. "To think I gave up after the first five. But from what I could tell, it was a history of the people and city here. What else did you find, Castiel?"

Castiel takes in a deep breath, glancing at each of them before speaking. "I've never seen the language used before, but it had enough linguistic similarities to other human languages that I could decipher most of the text – the chants, runes and spells – as well as the history of the city."

"That's great, Cas," Dean says, settling his body more comfortably along the wall. "Was there anything important?"

Castiel looks at him, and then says, "It tells their creation story, the rise of the city and its great kings. It also tells of the 'Ancient Ones' who wait beneath the earth to rise up and reclaim their domain should certain conditions be met to allow their awakening. It tells of the city's sorcerers working to discover the secret to bringing back the Ancient Ones with a powerful ritual."

Eloni sucks in a breath. "The leaders were trying to bring back Cthulhu?"

Castiel nods, hands settling against the stone slab in front of him. "There was a battle between those worshipping the Great Old Ones and those fighting against them. Those worshipping the Great Old Ones won and claimed the city."

"Damn," Dean says, folding his arms over his chest. He huffs out a breath and says, "What else do they say about Cthulhu?"

"They teach of a prophecy," Castiel says, pausing to frown before continuing. "It details the story of Cthulhu and the rest of the Great Old Ones, how they were thrown into their watery tombs, 'dead but dreaming', waiting for the day when they will awaken, their cities will rise from the waves, and their empires will once again hold dominion over the whole earth."

"So, they were wackjobs," Dean says.

Castiel looks at him, eyes hard and piercing. "They were _believers_. Their philosophers speak of other religion's creation stories, linking their own history to the stories of other peoples."

Dean frowns. "Meaning what?"

"The Apocalypse," Castiel says, closing his eyes for a moment before opening them again, as if it pains him to explain this all. "To them, all religions are linked. The stories are one in the same, a continuum, sharing a common origin. As does the story of the end. It's similar to something that Kali said to me… _all roads lead to the same destination_."

"Cas," Dean says, walking closer to Castiel and placing a hand on his elbow. "What are you getting at?"

"That maybe we didn't stop the Apocalypse, Dean," Castiel says. "We didn't stop anything."

Dean growls, shaking his head. "Of course we stopped it. We—" He stops as a memory pops up out of nowhere, Death chowing down on Dean's own half-eaten turkey sandwich. He starts to speak, thinks better of it and edits what he was about to blurt out. "Mr. D said something to me," he says, and at Castiel's frown he elaborates just far enough. "Skinny little guy dressed all in black, you know him. _Death_. He said something about us not having averted destiny entirely."

"Maybe you just changed its course," Eloni says, voice full of dawning understanding. "Like diverting a river. You damn one route, but it takes another. The river _must_ flow somewhere. Destiny _is_."

Castiel meets Dean's eyes, holding his gaze for a long, heavy moment. "The Great Old Ones were the first creations. And they left their mark on the world. On all the religions of the world after them," he explains. "When Elder Gods like Kali crossed into this world to seize power, they were left with the remnants of the Great Old Ones; they inherited their domains. And their stories."

Eloni sucks in a sharp breath and says, "So even though the Elder Gods fought the remaining Old Ones and forced the rest of them into slumber at the center of the world, the die was cast. The story must unfold as it was supposed to."

Castiel nods. "The Beast can be defeated, and it's prophesied how and by whom he will be defeated," he explains. "These records speak of that prophecy. It's why Hastur took action to create the weapons, to play his role in the prophecy. He worked with the Elder Gods to create three weapons that he believed could harm the Beast, weaken him enough to defeat him when he rose again. These weapons were hidden across the world. One was hidden in this city in hopes that a champion would rise to face the Beast one day."

"It's all prophesied?" Dean asks, groaning. "Fuck prophecy, Cas!"

Castiel closes his eyes for a long moment and then takes a breath, and turns to Dean. "Where is the sword?

"Sam locked it back at Eloni's house," Dean says. "We thought it would be safest there."

"The signs on the sword are important to this. I knew that the moment I saw them. Do you remember them yourself?" Castiel asks him, voice urgent. "What Kali told us about them."

Dean turns to look at Eloni, confused, before turning back to stare at Castiel. "Uh yeah I do," he says. "Kali told us the sword would be marked by both Hastur's sign and the Elder sign. Both sigils are on the blade."

"Yes, the Elder sign," Castiel says, shaking his head as if he can't believe it. "It's the sign of the Elder Gods who worked with Hastur to create the weapons. The sign was familiar to me when I saw the sword, but I could not understand why. Not until now."

"What are you talking about Cas?" Dean asks, baffled.

Castiel sighs deeply. "In Heaven, Michael had a sign that closely resembled the Elder sign. I think that Michael actually took the Elder sign as his own symbol when he rose in ranks in Heaven. Michael carried a sword with him that bore that mark; _his_ mark."

"He carried a sword with his mark," Dean repeats, his mind racing as connections are made.

"He carried this same sword," Castiel says quietly.

"Are you saying that the Archangel Michael once used the sword we now have in our possession?" Eloni asks, voice rising. "Hastur's weapon?"

Castiel nods sharply. "When Hastur was entombed, the Elder Gods inherited protection of his weapons. They hid them. But the Lagi texts speak of a warrior who inherited one of the weapons from the Elder Gods; he would protect it and hide it."

"And you're saying that warrior was an angel. That it was _Michael_?" Dean says, shaking his head. "This is all too friggin' much."

"It makes sense," Castiel says. "By protecting the sword, Michael took the Elder sign as his own sign."

"Oh wow," Eloni says, standing up straighter. "Wow."

Dean laughs, feeling hysterical. "We have the _actual_ Michael sword. For fuck's sake."

Eloni is watching them both closely, eyes wide. "But why would the Archangel Michael agree to take the sword? Why would he help the Elder Gods?"

"Because the Elder Gods believed him their champion," Castiel says softly. "Michael is the champion who prophecy said would slay the Beast."

"The Beast of Revelation," Eloni says, eyes brightening. "It's the same damn prophecy!"

Castiel nods, stepping away from them and pacing around the room. "I think…maybe Michael was meant to slay not only one Beast, the one we call Lucifer," he says. "But two."

"It makes sense," Eloni says. "In the Bible it mentions that at the right time, the Archangel Michael, the great prince who protects our people, will arise. There will be a time of distress such as has not happened from the beginning of nations until then. He will slay the Beast."

"But one problem," Dean cuts in, words dripping with disdain. "Michael's in the Cage with Lucifer. He's locked up. We put him there. He didn't and won't be slaying anyone or anything."

"I know," Castiel says, voice grave as he meets Dean's eyes.

They're all quiet for a long time, watching each other in the dusty light of the chamber.

"I don't know what this all means," Dean says, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "Fucking prophecy. It's bullshit, man. We rewrote the script, remember? Prophecy is not set in stone."

"But prophecies also have multiple meanings," Castiel says, watching him closely. "They can be interpreted differently in different religious traditions. Did you ever think that maybe they can't be _rewritten_ , per se. Only shifted. That maybe they just play out differently, just taking a different course to get to the same end."

Dean huffs a breath, shaking his head. "Goddammit, Cas. That makes no sense."

"Gentlemen, settle down," Eloni interrupts, groaning exhaustedly as she slumps down beside a large stone slab. "Did you know that the Book of Revelation actually mentions two Beasts?" she asks after a time, voice gone quiet. "One of which is a Beast rising up out of the sea."

"I remember that," Dean says, because _damn_ , he does. "I didn't believe it was real."

"You didn't believe I was real," Castiel says, voice deep and rough.

Dean catches his eyes, looks away quickly and mutters, "Yeah, I know."

"Across the world, there are many gods, many apocalypses," Eloni says, words soft. "The Bible has just one version. But what we're saying here is that it's incomplete, wrongly interpreted because it's missing how all the other prophecies link into it."

"That would mean that the angels were only trying to fulfill one part of the Apocalyptic prophecy," Dean says with a rough sigh. He rubs at his eyes, feeling suddenly tired.

"The Lagi texts tell of a prophecy similar to the one we find in the Christian Gospels. According to the stone tablets, there would be a prophet who would rise to herald the Beast's coming," Castiel says quietly.

"What kind of prophet?" Dean asks, frowning.

"A prophet of lies and deceit," Castiel says sharply.

"Like the False Prophet in the Bible!" Eloni exclaims, voice rising in excitement. "In the Book of Revelation, there are descriptions of two beasts: a beast from the sea, and a beast from the land. They are often discussed as the Beast and the _False Prophet_. It is said that the first Beast comes from out of the sea, and the second beast comes from out of the earth and directs the people of the world to worship the first. We are told the False Prophet was given power to give breath to the image of the first Beast. Along with Satan, these three entities are thought of as the unholy trinity that would bring in Armageddon."

"So we're saying the mythology surrounding Cthulhu and the end of the world can be related back to End Times stories from the Book of Revelation," Dean says, just needing to get it all out in the open, clear. "The two apocalyptic mythologies are linked."

"Yes. The Lagi prophecy is a retelling of the Armageddon story," Castiel says, nodding.

Eloni stands up again, pacing excitedly around the room. "In the Bible, the Beast gathers the kings of the earth and their armies to prepare for war against He who sits on a white horse – a rider who is faithful and true. The ensuing battle results in the Beast being seized, along with the False Prophet, and they are both cast into the Lake of Fire, where they are tormented for all eternity."

"This is a little too Lord of the Rings for me," Dean huffs, shaking his head. "Next you'll be telling me how 'one does not simply walk into Mordor.'"

Eloni laughs, a bit breathless. "Where do you think Tolkien got his inspiration from?"

"Okay, say all of this is true. What do we even do with this knowledge?" Dean asks, frowning.

"According to the Lagi prophecies, in order to kill the Beast we must use the blood of the Prophet in a special ritual," Castiel says. "We must use the ritual to bind them together and cast them into the Lake of Fire."

"We could use the ritual we found in the _Necronomicon_!" Eloni says, grinning. "It could work! By itself, the ritual in the grimoire would only trap the Beast back in his underwater tomb. But combining it with this False Prophet ritual means we won't just stop the Beast or put him back to sleep. We could _kill_ him. It would be powerful magic."

"Yes," Castiel says. "I think combining the rites would work. We need a weapon dipped in the blood of the Prophet, which we will then use to slay the beast. Hastur's weapons are the prophesied weapons. What remains is the last artifact, the one we're here to find."

"Okay, good," Dean says, voice rough, determined. "Let's go find it then, how about it?"

Eloni nods, pausing in her pacing. "I think I know how we find the door to the city."

"The map," Dean says, looking back at the stone slab he'd been examining earlier.

"What map?" Eloni says, brows arching.

"Doesn't that look like a map?" Dean asks, pointing to the engraved stones along the top of the wall.

"It does, doesn't it?" Eloni says, smiling wide, voice excited as she steps closer to the wall. "It has to be the city plan, all its passageways. And look, see, these lines look like roads and these symbols look like directional points," she adds, fingers running over the etched markings in the center of the stone.

"This has to be where we are," Dean says, stepping forward and pointing at the carving of a building that appears at the edge of the drawing, like a gateway leading in.

"I'm pretty sure this is a map of Lagi. These drawings of trees must represent the jungle, and this point represents the peak of the mountain," Eloni says, sounding excited.

Dean points to another set of images that curve out from the entrance, resembling a sun with rays moving away from the temple. "And this is where we enter the city."

"We just need the door to open for us," Eloni says. "And that's the part I found out how to do." She turns around and retrieves a stone tablet, holding it carefully in her hand as she approaches them. "There's an incantation we recite with a ritual that I believe will open the doorway through the temple."

"Freaking yes," Dean says, giving her a smile, his eyes catching Castiel's as he appears beside her.

Castiel brushes their shoulders together, and asks, "Are we ready?"

"Yeah," Dean answers, and he's turning his body to lean closer to Castiel when he feels suddenly thrown off-balance. A shiver runs through him, and he jerks upright. "What the—"

"Something's wrong," Eloni says, the white of her eyes shining in the dim light of the room.

"Yes, something's happened," Castiel says, stepping away from Dean and starting back towards the exit. 

Dean and Eloni follow behind him, and they're entering the front chamber just as Sam and Tuk come barreling in from where they'd been keeping watch by the entrance, breathing hard and with their weapons cocked.

"What's wrong?" Deans asks, doing a quick visual scan of Sam for injuries. His brother looks fine, but his eyes are wide and panicked.

Sam visibly swallows and steels himself as he says, "Something's coming, Dean."

"Some _things_. They're in the jungle!" Tuk adds nervously, hands clutching at his knapsack. "They're making these weird noises. Like moans and stuff."

Dean closes his eyes for a moment to steady himself. Then asks, "Did you see what they looked like?"

Sam nor Tuk have a chance to respond because at that moment Dean hears his name being yelled from outside. That's when Dean realizes that Castiel had gone ahead.

"Dammit, Cas!" Dean says, taking out his gun and racing to the entrance. He blinks his eyes against the glare of the afternoon sun as he steps outside, and then turns his head in time to see Castiel slicing the head off of something that looks very old, very gross, and very, very _dead_.

"What the hell is that?" Sam asks, alarmed.

"The guardians of the temple. The undead warriors of Lagi," Castiel says, voice hard. "An army that rises to protect the ancient city. I read about them on wall inside."

"You forgot to mention that part!" Dean yells, turning his eyes to scan the thick treeline. There's definitely more of those things out there in the jungle; he hears the shuffle-crunch of moving bodies, and the sounds of moans and howls that are definitely not human.

"I can try putting up a ward…" Eloni says, hands going to her bag.

"No time," Castiel growls, raising his machete and turning to stare at the gathered group. "Eloni you must work on opening the door, and I will stay to take care of the guardians."

"Not alone you're not," Dean shouts, glaring daggers at Castiel. "Sam and I are going to take care of these with you."

Castiel locks eyes with Dean for a long, tense moment, before the angel nods abruptly, eyes going back to the row of trees. Another howling cry from the jungle has them all grabbing for their weapons and tensing up.

"Did you say _undead_?" Sam asks, voice wary.

"They are the reanimated corpses of the original thirty guardians," Castiel says. "The city's magic gives them eternal life."

"What is this, _Return of the Living Dead_?" Dean grumbles. "I really friggin' hate zombies." His hands curl around his shotgun, nails digging into the warm metal. He turns to glance back at Eloni and says, "Cas was right about one thing though. Eloni, you and Tuk have to figure out the incantation and get the gate opened for us, okay? Go now!"

Eloni hesitates, but nods, grabbing Tuk's hand and heading back into the temple with him. Dean turns to look at Sam, who's already loading his own shotgun. "Ready little brother?"

Sam smirks, raising his gun. "Yep," he says.

Dean glances at Castiel, who is eyeing the still-twitching beheaded corpse at his feet with a curious gaze. "Beheading them is the only way to slow them down. But it won't kill them."

"Of course," Sam mutters. "Zombies 101."

Dean groans. "We journey thousands of miles to an ancient city in the South Pacific to uncover an artifact needed to defeat Cthulhu, only to find a temple protected by an army of the undead," he says, sighing. "You can't make this shit up."

"Welcome to our life," Sam mutters.

Dean scrubs a hand over his face and squints into the shadows, catching a movement from his left. He bites back a curse when they finally appear, dark figures crawling out of the shadows, seeming to shift out from between twisted tree limbs, out of the jungle's dark holes and crevices. They climb out of the trees and toward them from all directions.

"Shit." Dean lowers his voice and adds, "Get ready."

Turns out the dead don't walk; they _sprint_.

In the blink of an eye, the guardians are surrounding Dean, Sam, and Castiel on all sides. The things are decrepit, falling apart, skin pale if there's any skin left on them at all. Some of them are naked or near naked, wearing only rags and pieces of tattered, ancient clothing. Others are still in full warrior gear, shields and armor rusted but clinging to their dead bodies.

The first attack happens so quick it gives Dean whiplash. One moment he's aiming his shotgun at the ugliest motherfucker he's seen in a long while, and the next he's wrestling the thing to the ground, grinding his knee into its bony chest, and trying to stop the sucker from chomping down on his neck. Running on adrenaline and fear, Dean's slamming his shotgun into the guardian's face before he even thinks through his plan of action, and then he's pulling the trigger, shattering the zombie's head into a thousand pieces of bone, and skin, and muscle. Pieces of the thing cling to Dean's face and neck. He shakes himself, stunned, mouth flooded with bile as he stumbles to his feet, trying not to vomit.

There's still ongoing commotion all around him. In his peripheral vision, he sees Castiel using hand-to-hand combat and his machete to take on three guardians, while Sam's aiming for their heads with his shotgun. He watches as a group of them circle Sam, who's already torn-up and bloody from the fight. Sam's keeping them at bay by shooting at one and then another, emptying rounds into the guardian's skulls as they hurtle toward him, and in that moment Dean makes up his mind. "Sam, run for the temple! I'll cover you!" he yells at his brother, racing toward him, shotgun in hand.

Sam doesn't stop shooting, only yells louder. "What?! No!"

Dean is eyeing the distorted visage of a guardian as it starts for his brother. "Eloni and Tuk need to be protected. Make sure they find the way into the city. Let me and Cas take care of the rest of these!"

Sam turns to Dean, but that's when the things decide to up their attack. Dean races forward, desperate, watching as Sam attempts to fight one then two of them off, cursing as the things get a hold of him and drag him to the ground.

"Sam!" Dean hollers as his brother goes down, but Castiel is suddenly there, wrenching the creatures away from Sam and flinging them across the grass.

"Listen to your brother, Sam!" Castiel's voice has a hard, uncompromising quality to it. "Go now, and help the professor and her son open the pathway."

Sam doesn't look happy, but he gets to his feet and makes his way toward the temple, and Dean lets out a relieved breath. His hands are shaking, mouth gulping for air, as he turns to face one of the guardians trying to follow his brother.

"Oh no you don't," Dean snaps in its direction, and the thing turns to face him directly, its mangled mouth smiling cruelly. The guardian's armor, which had once been gilded, is cracked and dull. The creature's breastplate is split down the middle, its ancient sword chopped in half. Flesh falls from its face, putrified muscle and white bone peeking through.

The guardian rushes him, and Dean's machete swings out, slicing through the soft flesh of its abdomen. The hit doesn't slow it down, and that's when Dean gets a good look at the changing situation. Cas is battling a half a dozen guardians about a yard away. But Dean can see the other remaining ones all getting to their feet, bodies reforming as they flank out in all directions.

And then they sprint, all of them at once, and Dean knows what he has to do. He runs like the friggin' wind. The guardians chase Dean into the jungle as he barrels through the dense forest of trees, tripping over the thick roots that snake over the ground. Around him, he hears bodies rustling through the foliage, hard and swift movements following his own.

For a time, Dean even hears Castiel shouting his name in the distance, but Dean's too busy trying to dodge giant tree limbs and chomping zombie teeth. He's not paying enough attention to where he's going, and before he knows it, he finds himself falling to his knees in a clearing, surrounded by a number of undead warriors racing his way.

One of the guardians launches itself at Dean, pinning him to the ground. Dean swings his gun at the creature's head, hitting it over and over, listening the crunch of its skull and the mush of its brain with every impact. He manages to get the body off of him with a sharp, forceful swing of his arm, but just as Dean's climbing to his feet, he's knocked over again, falling onto his back this time.

Sharp pain shoots up through his spine, making breathing difficult. Dean's gasping as he raises his head up, blinking against the light of the evening sun. There, directly above him, blocking the sky, he sees the outline of a guardian. It raises its sword in the air, and the world goes quiet, slows down, stretches infinitely long. There's a hot twist of fear low in Dean's gut, but he can't manage even one word as the creature brings his sword down for a killing blow.

"Now you know how much my love for you  
burns deep in me  
when I forget about our emptiness,  
and deal with shadows as with solid things."  
― Dante Alighieri, _Purgatorio_  


The blade is an inch from Dean's face when the undead guardian suddenly jerks back, its decrepit body crumpling where it stands. Dean has only a brief moment to see the creature light up from the inside, its near-empty eye sockets gone ablaze and spilling something that looks like the noonday sun before Dean has to shut his own eyes, curl up, and hide his head in his arms. _Cas_ , Dean thinks, knowing the angel's light like he knows the back of his own hand.

A few seconds pass before Dean has the wherewithal to uncurl himself and blink his eyes open. The light has faded from the creature, and all that remains is the burnt husk of the ancient warrior, its head a blackened crisp of decaying meat that has even Dean considering going vegetarian for a while. Castiel is already a few yards away, moving with inhuman speed and grace as he takes on more of the undead guardians. The angel is dancing across the glen like he's in some battlefield ballet, and Dean finds he can't look away. There's something about Castiel like this that's a bit mesmerizing; he's in his element, a powerful force of fury and might, and for a moment Dean is reminded of what Cas was put on this Earth to do. _To kick some serious ass._

It takes Dean another moment to get back his bearings, jumping to his feet to join in the fray. He picks up his machete from where it fell to the ground, and then grabs his Colt 45 from his bag before racing toward the battle. Castiel is pumping bullets into one guardian, while he wrenches the head of another right from its shoulders one-handed. Dean sucks in a breath at the display, watching as the zombie crumples to the ground, headless and spurting blood and black goo, leaving behind a putrid mess of flesh and bone.

Dean has only a moment to take in the rest of the surrounding scene – there are more then ten zombies circling the glen – before one of the undead warriors tackles Dean from the side. They both go down hard, and the next thing Dean knows he's got an armful of monster, all pale, undead skin and black matted hair and dead white eyes, before the thing starts snarling, mouth widening to rip into Dean.

Dean manages to force his gun up between them and shoot bullets into the thing's gut at point-blank range. The force of the impact sends the creature sailing, but Dean doesn't slow down. He rockets to his feet, pivoting around in time to behead another one, sending its blood and hair flying in all directions. He glances up to see Castiel practically flying over the grass himself – he has one creature head-locked in his arm while he pumps two rounds into the guardian racing toward him.

Dean swings around to his right, holding his breath, muscles in his arms tensing as he picks up his abandoned shotgun and reloads it with shaking hands. Not a moment too soon in fact: another guardian erupts from the surrounding treeline, sprinting his way. Dean shoots and shoots, bucking at each recoil, counting each time the creature jerks back after one bullet and then another slams into its chest. But the thing just keeps on coming until he blows a hole right through its head.

Dean can hear Castiel's rifle rat-a-tat-tatting from a few feet away, and he turns his head for a brief moment, watching the creatures go down one by one as Castiel shoots. Panting, Dean raises his shotgun high and turns to scan the clearing for the remaining warriors. There are about eight corpses on the ground, their heads gaping holes where flesh and bone used to be. Dean knows there are more out there in the trees, circling the glen, but he concentrates on the two bullet-ridden ones pulling themselves up from the ground a few yards from him.

Dean's shotgun is warm in his hands as he takes aim at the head of the nearest guardian. The crack of his weapon rings clear across the clearing. He gets off two more shots, quick and precise, before the two undead warriors fall back, headless and still, onto the ground.

They've been battling these things for so long the sky has darkened, and the world has narrowed down to the smell of rot and the stink of old blood. Shotgun shells litter the grass, crunching under Dean's boots, and the field of bodies surrounding him makes him think of the war stories his dad used to tell him.

Castiel is moving through the clearing, checking the bodies to make sure they're _really_ dead. Dean crouches down to the ground, closes his eyes, and sucks in deep breaths. He can feel everything about his body now, the aches and pains, the blood and zombie shit that stains his clothes and skin. He drags a hand through his hair, wincing at the sticky mix of sweat and dirt and blood tangling it. Adrenaline's slowly fading from his body, and in its wake he's left exhausted and frayed. In the silence, his thoughts return to Sam, wondering if he, Eloni, and Tuk made it through the gateway.

"We've killed all but sixteen of the thirty," Castiel says, and Dean jumps, not having heard Castiel's stealthy approach from behind him.

Dean climbs to his feet, groaning and wincing at the twinges in his body, and turns to look at Castiel, who's looking about as good as Dean feels. "Do you sense the remaining ones?" he asks, throat dry and sore from the lack of water.

"Yes, they're scattered in the jungle surrounding us. They're biding their time," Castiel says gruffly as he reaches into his bandolier for ammunition and begins to reload his rifle.

"Friggin' zombies," Dean mutters, watching Castiel's smooth and deft hands load the cartridges quickly into the gun.

"They have proved most difficult," Castiel says, voice a soft growl.

Dean barely has a chance to ask Cas how he's doing before the undead guardians decide it's time for a little _Return of the Living Dead_. Five of the warriors sprint out of the jungle in some sort of intricate, star-shaped battle formation. Dean's reminded of the war tactics he used to read about in Bobby's old tomes on ancient warfare.

Dean backs up slowly, holding his breath, and takes aim as the guardians launch their attack, racing forward with their swords held high and sounding some sort of battle cry that nearly ruptures Dean's ear drums. Shaking off the sound, Dean doesn't even have a moment to think; he just reacts, all instinct and training. He beheads one guardian before he can even blink, watching a second one grapple at him, its bones bursting through armor and skin as Dean kicks it to the ground.

Castiel's pinning a third creature to the ground, ripping its head off its neck with his bare hands. Dean isn't ready when another guardian wraps its arms around his waist and bites down hard into his shoulder. Dean screws his eyes shut tight and lets loose a low groan, feeling the thing's teeth tear into him. Sharp pain winds down his arm and blood oozes across his skin. Dean drops to the ground in a motion that sends the guardian on his back grappling for purchase, but the thing still has its mouth clamped onto Dean's shoulder, its jaws working slowly, and the smell of his own blood has Dean feeling dizzy, ready to vomit.

Taking in a deep breath and centering on the pain, Dean twists in the creature's hold, kicking his leg back, and shooting his elbow out with the right amount of force, so that the guardian loosens its hold enough that Dean can reach for the smooth handle of his machete. Dean wraps his hand around it, and with all his strength he pushes back at the creature, and damn if it feels like it rips out a piece of him as its goes. The guardian stumbles away, and Dean staggers to his feet, slams the butt of his shotgun into the thing's stomach, and then brings the blade down as hard as he can manage, slicing clear through the monster's neck. The creature spasms and twitches, its torso falling to the ground as its severed head lands beside Dean's feet, rolling for a moment before settling, face up.

Dean stands there for a moment, looking into the creature's unseeing eyes, breathing against the white-hot pain working its way through his arm.

"Dean!" Castiel's voice is loud at his side, sounding tired and rugged and battle-worn.

Dean sways for a moment, but settles as Castiel's hand comes up to rest against his arm. He looks at Cas and is surprisingly not at all put off by the bits of zombie flesh clinging to his jacket.

"I thought I was zombie catnip there for a while," Dean confesses, low and rough.

"There are still more coming our way," Castiel says quickly, and Dean jerks his head around, scanning the clearing, heart dropping as he sees that Castiel's right. The last of the guardians are exiting the jungle, making their way slowly into the glen.

A few seconds pass, and then they're all standing around the clearing, surrounding Dean and Castiel from all sides.

"Shit," Dean says. A beat passes in which he counts how many they'd each need to fight, and then he takes a breath and settles at Castiel's side. They stand side-by-side, weapons at the ready, and wait.

Dean glances at Castiel for a moment and thinks, _I should tell Cas. I should just say it…_ But he doesn't finish the thought because Castiel turns to him and meets his eyes, and there's something in his gaze that makes Dean's mind go blank.

"We need to end this _now_ ," Castiel whispers roughly into the silence. Dean's about to ask Cas if he has a grand plan to do that when it's currently eleven against two, when Castiel gets this hard look on his face and raises his hand in the air, and Dean _knows_ exactly what's about to happen.

"Close your eyes!" Castiel booms.

Dean obeys, raising his arms in front of his face. When the light show hits, the searing glow is a shock to Dean's system, and he feels the sheer force of it filling the glen, filling up the whole world even. The guardians' dying screams are loud enough to send Dean to his knees, and he feels chunks of burnt zombie flesh and bone rain down all around him.

Everything goes quiet.

Dean opens his eyes, squints. It's almost as if the clearing is bathed in some kind of weird magic; the grass and the trees and the rocks seem to hum and pulse. He breathes deep, dragging in breaths of fetid air. The muscles in his body slowly lose their tension, and his boots sink into the dirt.

"Dean," Castiel says, voice fierce and low.

"I'm okay," Dean says. He looks up, and Castiel's standing tall in front of him, bloodstained and swaying, but larger-than-life. The angel looks at Dean for a long, considering moment before turning to stare out at the expanse of land around them.

"Is that all of 'em?" Dean asks, eyes tracking across the clearing, zooming in on the burnt husks of zombies littering the grass. He can't quite clear his head, too much adrenaline still ringing loudly in his ears.

"It's over," Castiel says, kneeling down to settle beside Dean.

Dean closes his eyes. He can feel blood clinging to his eyelashes, dripping from the cut on his forehead. He can feel the sweat prickling across his neck. The dirt caked on his face. He counts to three, focuses on making his heartbeat slow.

When Dean looks up, Cas is watching him again. The angel is clearly exhausted from his display of power, and he slumps against Dean, settling close.

"You shouldn't have used so much of your mojo," Dean says, breathing hard. He's mad at himself for being so angry about it, but he knows how Cas gets after a big show like this.

"I did what I had to do," Castiel says fiercely, and Dean wants to fight with him about that, but he's too damn tired, so he just grunts his disagreement and lets Castiel drag them both to the ground, where they settle together to regain enough strength for the journey ahead.

Sam eyes the front door of the temple again, heart skipping over itself in his chest. _Come on, Dean_.

"Your brother and Castiel will be okay," Eloni says, shaking Sam out of his racing thoughts. "They told us to go on. To find the artifact. And Sam, we must do that while the magic keeps our window open."

"I can't leave them," Sam says, fists clenching.

"Tuk and I need your help right now too. We can't do this alone," Eloni says, and her voice carries authoritatively in the small confines of the antechamber.

Sam swallows, closing his eyes and breathing. Dean would need him to continue the quest, to find the artifact. "Okay, you're right," he finally concedes, fidgeting where he stands, needing to get a start on things.

"Dean _will_ be alright," Tuk says from the corner where he's pressing his hands to what they think is the map of Lagi.

Eloni looks over at him and nods. "And in the meantime we find the artifact," she says, her eyes going to the stone tablet she had been holding as she adds, "I'll recite this, and the door should reveal itself to us. But both of you must keep your eyes on the walls."

Sam straightens up and fixes his gaze to the far right wall. He holds his flashlight high, and the shadows shrink back towards the darkness. "Lets do this, then."

Eloni's words are soft as she begins to read, " _Peta babkama luruba anaku, peta abullu daltu eribu, harsag zalazalag…_ " Sam listens to the way her voice falls and rises in a cadence that is harmonious and elegant for something so alien. The air around him goes heavy with the language, thickens with its power, filling every corner of the room with the echo of Eloni's voice. The energy in the room sparks, comes alive, shimmers.

Sam stops listening the moment the sigils on the tablet start to glow as the incantation is recited. "What the—" he begins, but pauses, noticing Tuk's expression.

"Sam, come here," Tuk whispers excitedly as he points to the map on the stone slab. The map's engravings are glowing with a similar light to the tablet. Sam's about to warn Tuk not to touch, but the teenager is already reaching up to brush his fingers against the glowing rock. The rock brightens even further, the symbols moving across the wall in zig-zags and spirals.

"Oh my god," Tuk says.

Sam's mouth drops open, watching in awe. He steps forward and touches the images on the wall himself, following their movement with his fingers. The stone feels like a warm stove. "It's the Temple of Malama," he says. "It's pointing out the way there."

Eloni continues to recite the incantation, her voice rising as the images on the wall glow brighter, turning a deep sun-lit shade of gold, and then Sam hears it: the sound of grinding rock and sliding stone. He turns on his heels to see the stone parting on the far wall, outside light slipping into the chamber.

A new doorway is opening.

"I'll be damned," Sam whispers, turning to Tuk, who's gaping at the door, mouth parting and closing like a fish. "We've found the pathway."

_Lagi_

The air hangs heavy with mist, humid and sticky. The ground is spongy and soft with overgrown vegetation. From his perch atop a cliff, Sam stares out across the expanse of dense jungle on one side of him and the miles of jungle-covered ruins on the other. From here he can see the distant city on the furthest mountaintop, its tall ruins surrounded by thick layers of fog.

It's incredible. It's…beyond his wildest dreams.

Sam, Eloni, and Tuk have been hiking for almost twenty minutes now, following the path outlined by the stone map they'd seen inside the temple. The sun is a pale circle in the sky, hidden by thick clouds. When the sun comes out from hiding, it lights the trees with a soft, golden glow, which makes them glint against the surrounding jungle. They trek down through lava-colored valleys, wind through dark jungle and verdant hills, pass tall cliffs and wide gorges, and stop to rest in a sea of green as far as the eye can see. Well, Sam thinks, if they have to face down another Apocalypse, at least this one's happening in paradise.

Sam hasn't let go of his gun since leaving the temple, forefinger resting lightly on the trigger. He's on guard in case any more of those zombie warriors decide to make an appearance, but it's been quiet so far. They pause on the side of what was probably a main road, a stone path leading to what Sam figures to be the heart of the city. For a moment he feels like Dorothy in Oz preparing to follow the yellow-brick road. He laughs at the thought, thinking about how Dean would tease him mercilessly if he knew. _Be okay, Dean_ , Sam thinks.

Together they follow the wide, paved stone road past the perimeter wall and into the center of Lagi. Sam watches the city unfold tall and dark in front of them, the jungle having done its best to reclaim it.

"Lagi, the hidden, ancient city in the mountains," Eloni whispers, and Sam can't think of a proper word to describe it.

The city center is surrounded by cut stone buildings, standing bright against the dark jungle green. More roads spiral out from the city center into the distance in a web of limestone. Rivers and streams can be seen following the labyrinthine narrow walkways that snake and twine throughout the city. In the distance, a set of four temples rise with the mountain peaks, the gold dusting of the sun illuminating them.

"It's like the Hanging Gardens of Babylon," Tuk says, shock and wonder in his voice. Sam grins, nodding as he looks over at Tuk. The teen's eyes are wide, glittering with delight and excitement.

Simply put, Lagi is magnificent; full of old, stone buildings, huge temples, hieroglyph-covered walls, and massive stone sculptures and pillars, surrounded by wild jungle and vines on all sides. They spend a while exploring the ruins of the guard towers, the ancient limestone speckled with black mold and lichen. Most of the massive stone ruins are covered in vines, making it near impossible to see into the openings.

Tuk acts as a scout. Sam watches as the teenager clambers up a set of tall ruins, shotgun in hand, outlined tall and skinny against the sky. He brings up a pair of binoculars and scopes out the landscape, and Sam turns around and looks at the giant stone sculptures in front of him.

Sam recognizes the stonework as cyclopean masonry, massive limestone boulders fitted together to construct the buildings. Monumental hieroglyphic inscriptions cover several of the rough surfaces, and Sam notices the familiar design element from the temple – a series of continuous spirals, which seem to represent sea waves. Sam places a hand on the center of one of the statues, a giant head with saucer eyes and tentacles for hair.

Sam looks up as Eloni joins him, carrying a spherical stone tablet in her hand. "Some say that all of the South Pacific islands host ruins from the Great Old Ones' civilizations," she says quietly. "But this is the first set of ruins I've seen and believed it to be true."

Sam nods, taking in the sprawling complex of the city, untouched by anyone for thousands of years. "It's amazing," he whispers, the stone of the statue warm underneath his palm.

"It's something out of legend," Eloni says, and they both stare out at the city in silence, lost in their own thoughts until Tuk comes down to join them.

The city center is a mosaic of buildings that resemble sculpted stone giants, much of them hidden beneath mountains of thick, green vegetation. Sam can still make out the serious of odd shapes and patterns in the monuments, the strange angles and designs that resemble nothing he's ever seen before. Sam thinks of how Lovecraft had described Cthulhu's home island of _R'lyeh_ in his writing – a multi-dimensional place of vast, non-Euclidean angles, an otherworld somewhere in between the planes of Heaven and Earth. Lagi is much like that.

The sun is hot on the nape of Sam's neck as he heads into a hollowed-out stone house, Eloni and Tuk following behind him.

"Let's rest here for a moment before hiking toward the temples," he says. His voice comes out rough, tired.

Tuk drops to his knees beside Sam, groaning and shrugging off his backpack and throwing it at the ground. "I need a nap."

"Soon," Eloni says, smiling indulgently at her son. "Once we find the artifact, we will be able to rest."

Sam places his shotgun on the ground, and throws Tuk a grin. "No rest for the wicked, dude."

Tuk rolls his eyes, laughing as he sips from his canteen.

Ten minutes later they're back on the path of the temple, surrounded by sets of stone houses spread out in weird, complicated patterns. The four temples they'd spotted when entering Lagi encircle the outer city walls at each cardinal direction.

"Do you remember which one it is?" Tuk asks, pausing on a rise where a break in the trees offers them all another amazing view of the surrounding area and its ancient, weathered structures.

"The temple in the North," Sam says, shielding his eyes against the mid-day sun as he glances at a set of stone spires peeking over the treetops in the distance. The temple ruins are set among the rolling hills, backdropped by the blue sea.

It takes about thirty minutes to reach the Temple of the Malama. The mammoth building has been nearly reclaimed by the jungle – overgrown with dense vegetation and gnarled vines that wrap themselves around the ancient stone like a second skin. There are even trees erupting from the base of the building and growing from inside the walls.

"Shall we?" Tuk says after the group spends several long moments starring at the temple in awe.

"I'll lead," Sam says, taking out his flashlight and heading toward the entrance.

The door slides open easily for them, and within moments they're passing through it, the temple's shadowy darkness closing around them as they enter the main hall. It's cooler and drier inside the temple, but Sam smells the pungent odor of moss and dark soil. Flashlights held high, the trio shuffles through the passage into what appears to be the main room, a large mostly-empty chamber.

Daylight spills in from open windows set high in the room, and Sam's eyes widen when he takes in the walls, covered in a series of hieroglyphic murals that seem to depict a great conflict between giant creatures that Sam knows must be the Great Old Ones.

"Similar to the first temple, I believe these walls tell the creation myths of the people who once lived here," Eloni says, fingers following the engraving on the wide center stone that is placed next to a row of spherical slabs filled with carved drawings. "Their birth and rise, and their destruction. The stories of their gods."

Sam traces his fingers over the wave-like designs that run from floor-to-ceiling in vertical patterns across the wall in front of him. "The ocean is everywhere," he says.

"Water as life," Eloni says as she glances his way. "And death."

"Yeah," Sam says. That's something he knows a little about, thanks to Kali.

"Check this out," Tuk says, beckoning to them from across the room.

Sam heads over, focusing his flashlight on what Tuk is pointing to: a large sculpture hidden in shadows at the far end of the room. It's a tri-headed beast with heads that resemble a serpent, large bat-like wings, and the fins of a fish. Sam lifts his flashlight higher, revealing the glyphs above it near the ceiling.

"What do you think, Professor?" Sam asks as she steps beside him.

"The walls speak of the Great God from the Sea," Eloni says.

"Definitely something to do with Cthulhu," Sam whispers, peering closely at the three gaping mouths on the statue. He slides his fingers along the sides of one of them, feeling the wave symbols engraved there.

"We should keep looking," Eloni says.

Sam nods, pulling back his hand just as his fingers brush over something jammed into a crease along one of the serpent's eye slits. Slowing his hand, he retraces the crease with his fingertips, trying to get a better feel for it.

"Hey Tuk, shine your flashlight lower," Sam says, before taking a knife out of his boot and inserting it into the crease he'd been tracing a moment earlier. He scrapes the blade along the edge of the eye before working it deeper into the groove.

"What is it?" Eloni asks, voice low and breathless.

"Something's jammed in there good," Sam says, wiggling his knife back and forth.

Sam's about to give up the ghost when he hears something snap loose. He sets his knife down, and then works his fingers over what feels like a carved stone cylinder – no more than four inches long – sticking out of the side of the statue. Sam tries to pry the piece of jammed limestone completely free, but that's when he hears it: something around them clicking into place, followed by a loud, ominous grinding sound as the temple begins to shake.

"Shit," Sam gasps as the floor underneath him opens up and he's falling into darkness.

_Tu'ugamau Island_

"Dude, you kinda look like a pint-sized Rambo," Dean says, watching Cas lean up against the trunk of some mammoth-sized tree, his rifle held up against his shoulder, his bandolier slung across his chest. They're both a post-battle mess at the moment, sweaty and dirty, stubbled from not shaving for days. Their clothes are ripped and bloody, and Dean can feel fresh blood oozing from his shoulder where zombie warrior number twenty-four managed to nibble on him. And he knows the scattered bruises and the smudges of dirt and blood on Castiel's face mirror his own.

Castiel is squinting over at Dean. "What is a Rambo?"

"Never mind," Dean snorts, shaking his head. He pushes his machete into the stump of a tree, and settles his sore body on the ground right beside it. Thick, forking branches spread above them, creating a dense canopy. He adds, gaze flicking over Cas, "I just think that bandolier looks really good on you is all."

"I suppose." Castiel runs a hand over the ammunition belt, and then looks up at Dean. "I still find human weapons strange, and not at all as practical as the manifestations of my grace. But I will admit that I do like watching you with your weapons. I find it to be a pleasing experience."

"Pleasing?" Dean arches a brow, smirking.

A smile twitches at the corners of Castiel's mouth. "Yes, pleasing. I find your prowess in battle pleasing, Dean."

Dean smiles lasciviously, eyes working their way up Castiel's body again. "I do like to watch you handle your sword."

"I was one of the best sword fighters in my garrison," Castiel says in a surprisingly proud tone, totally missing Dean's very obvious come on.

 _Good old Cas_ , Dean thinks, shaking his head and chuckling. "I don't doubt it man," he says.

Castiel smiles over at him, and Dean has to force his gaze away, feeling his entire body heat up. He squints up at the leafy canopy above, judging the angle of the sunlight. "It's going to be dark in few hours. I think we should find somewhere to set up camp, preferably out of the elements since we don't have our tents and I smell rain on the air. We can work our way back toward the ravine tomorrow morning, and hope Sam and the others will be there to meet us."

Castiel nods, and Dean sucks in a deep breath, trying not to think about Sam out there without him. He eases back onto his feet slowly, holding a hand over his chest where one of the zombies kicked him. The pain is not so intense he can't walk, but the longer they stay moving, the sorer he gets.

"First I wish to see to your injuries," Castiel says, sidling up beside Dean and helping him over to a spot across the way that has enough room for them both to spread out.

"This isn't necessary," Dean grumbles, but he knows his protest is weak.

"Yes, it is." The command in the angel's voice is unmistakable when he adds, "Now lie back."

Dean chuckles, not arguing, loving it when Cas gets bossy and takes control. He pulls off his jacket and layers of t-shirts, wincing as he moves his zombie-bitten shoulder. Then he leans back to let Cas look him over, sighing out playfully, "Okay, Dr. Sexy, am I done for or what?"

Castiel actually rolls his eyes at Dean, but a soft smile hovers at the corners of his lips before he turns away and concentrates on examining Dean's battered torso. The angel's hands are careful and gentle, Castiel having quickly picked up what Dean and Sam taught him about first-aid and emergency medicine in the field, sans angel mojo. They'd packed a few first-aid supplies in the bags they carried with them into the temple, and Castiel takes out the sterile gauze, bottles of antiseptic, and adhesive bandages as he works.

Castiel is thorough in his examination, and Dean finds he likes the feel of Castiel's hands working over his body, the elegant and deft dance of his long fingers, the warm tickle of his touch, and the feel of his keen gaze as he searches out injuries. His friend's eyes are locked on the job at hand, his fingers making wide swipes with a moist cloth over Dean's bruised chest and wounded shoulder. Beside his smarting ribs, Dean's bleeding from a few scrapes on his face and arms. He closes his eyes as Castiel washes off the crust of dirt, sweat, and blood there, cleaning the wounds out and bandaging them. Dean's a bit sunburned too across his back, and he grunts when Castiel sweeps long fingers across his shoulders and neck to gently apply aloe to the inflamed skin.

Castiel touches his arm when he's done, eyes dark and serious. "You will live," he pronounces gravely, and Dean laughs softly at the hint of sarcasm in the angel's voice. Dean runs a hand across his bare chest, lingering over the bandages Castiel placed there. He eyes the thin lines of old wounds, the soft, shiny pink skin that has healed with time.

"Will I turn into a zombie like in the movies?" Dean says with a smirk, eyeing his bandaged shoulder.

"This is not a movie," Castiel says dryly.

"Could have fooled me," Dean growls, sighing in exasperation. _Friggin' zombies_.

Castiel hands Dean his flask, wordless. Dean sits up and sips at the whiskey, and they're quiet together for a long time. With Cas so near, Dean feels strangely rooted, feels like he belongs here in his own too-tender skin; he feels like he belongs here under the stars appearing in the sky, their light almost as old as Castiel. Dean thinks about those times he had to hunt on his own, when he would pull over in an empty field and lie back on the hood of the Impala and watch the sky. He'd think about how the night sky was the same sky his Dad or Sam were seeing from wherever they were. Dean didn't feel as alone when he did that, and there was a warmth that used to spread from his stomach out, radiating across his chest. It's the same warmth he feels now, here with Castiel.

Dean stares at Castiel's downturned face for a moment, catching sight of the dark circles under the angel's eyes. He says, "Hey, do you need any patching up yourself? You went all badass on those zombies back there. You sure you're doing okay?"

Castiel blinks up at him, as if surprised by the question. "I didn't have enough power left to patch you up, but my body will heal itself. I'm just tired from exerting so much of my grace."

"You should have said something, man," Dean scolds gently, pulling Castiel closer to him so that they can both lean against the tree. "We'll rest for a bit before continuing. Save our strength."

Amazingly enough Castiel doesn't protest the move, simply sprawls across Dean's chest, burying his face in Dean's neck. "You didn't tell me you were tired or hurting either," Castiel chides quietly.

"Yeah, well," Dean pauses, snorting. "I'm not used to people taking care of me."

"You ignore your pain so that you may help others," Castiel says. "I don't like that."

Dean sighs, pressing gentle lips across Castiel's sweaty forehead. "I don't like when you do it either," he mumbles. "Throwing yourself on the line for me and Sam the way you do."

"It's my duty," Castiel says, voice rough. "I still consider myself your guardian, Dean, even if you—"

"Hey, hey, none of that," Dean interrupts, pulling his arms tighter around Castiel.

Truth is, it's weird to hear someone talking about him like this, when it's always been Dean's responsibility to care for the ones he's loved. Sammy. Dad. Even Bobby when he let him. Mom too, before the fire. He remembers trying to make her feel better, holding her with his little arms and telling her that everything would be okay. He remembers kissing her growing belly when she was pregnant with Sam, and promising his unborn baby brother that Dean would take care of him too. Dean knows something about protecting people. About duty. More than two decades later, Dean remembers the words he whispered over Sam's lifeless body, when he failed: _I always tried to protect you…Keep you safe…Dad didn't even have to tell me. It was just always my responsibility, you know?_

Something inside Dean goes cold, remembering how he's failed time and time again. It's all he's ever done.

"I believe Sam will reach the city safely," Castiel whispers against his neck, and Dean blinks back the memories of his past, turning his attention to the angel in his arms.

"I hope so," Dean murmurs quietly. He swallows down his worries; he just hopes his brother isn't facing anything he can't handle. He closes his eyes, feeling the heavy pull of sleep. He thinks about Sam on his own for those two years his soul spent in the Cage, thinks about being unable to save him then too. Never being able to save him. Dean knows he's worthless, useless, and a fuck-up at the best of times, and his entire body hurts from the truth of it. Dean wonders if maybe Cas will realize the truth too and leave again; maybe he won't come back next time.

Too close to sleep, Dean doesn't open his eyes, but he whispers Castiel's name, wondering if he's already gone. But Cas is there: a warmth moving at his side, a hand molding itself to his shoulder, a soft voice whispering in his ear, a light into Dean's darkness. Dean feels himself calming, drifting off to the rough cadence of Castiel's voice, its rhythm like a song Dean's been chasing his entire life.

_Lagi_

Sam lets loose a yell of surprise and fear; he's falling down what feels like a slide at a water park, its walls narrow and slick and smooth. Seconds later, he's dropping to the floor in a tangled slump, his body slamming hard enough to leave him breathless.

 _Ouch_.

He instantly knows he's in another room, although this one smells like old, wet forest, and is pitch black. Sam has to let his eyes adjust for a long moment before he can move forward without fear of banging against something.

"Okay," he mumbles, slowly peeling himself off the floor and crawling toward the hole in the wall he just slid in through. Flashlight beams are dancing from the other end of the chute, and he knows he didn't fall too far if he can still make out the dim light.

"Eloni! Tuk!" he calls up into the hole, and he hears their muted echoes yelling out his own name.

"I fell down a chute that leads to a hidden inner chamber!" Sam calls to them. _Which, okay, is kind of cool if you think about it_ , he muses silently.

"Oh my god!" Eloni yells back down. "Are you okay?"

"I am," Sam says, dusting himself off as he climbs carefully to his feet. He's covered in dust and cobwebs, and he probably looks like something that just rolled out of a grave. "Can you throw me down a flashlight – slowly!"

Seconds later, he hears something knocking around in the chute, and then he's catching the flashlight seconds before it hits the floor. He flicks it on quickly, anxious to find out more about his current predicament. What he finds is a room that's small and confined, probably about fifty feet in both directions. It's shaped like an oval, and the limestone floor is covered in carvings, large, concentric rings that dig deep into the rock.

"Are you alright, Sam?" Eloni calls down.

"I'm alright! I'm just gonna look around," Sam calls back, angling the flashing around the room.

The roof of the room is low, but it's comfortable enough to stand and walk forward, and Sam's able to continue his exploration without falling over. Glyphs line the walls, the same as the floors, but there, in the center of the circular room, is a giant rock pedestal with something that looks like a cup centered on top.

"I'll be damned," Sam breathes, guiding the light closer to illuminate the artifact. He recognizes the writing on it; he'd seen the same sigil carved into the sword's blade. _Hastur's sign._

"It's a chalice!" Sam calls out. "I think I found the last artifact!" He hears what sounds like whoops of joy from the above chamber.

It's a strange-looking object, in all honesty. Faded from age, coated in a patina of dust, sigils are engraved in the dull metal, which is cool to the touch when Sam finally gets the courage to reach out. His thumb brushes grime away, and with a nervous sigh, he counts to three. "Please don't Indiana Jones me," he mutters, as he carefully and slowly closes his fingers around the cup and lifts it from the pedestal.

On cue, the ground lurches underneath his feet, and Sam gasps, grabbing the cup and jerking back. The cup glows for a moment in his hand, before fading back to its vintage luster.

The ground has stopped moving, but when Sam looks up, there's light spilling into the room from what appears to be a crack in the stone leading to the outside world. Sam laughs out loud, shaking head because it's all so freaking unbelievable. The raised stone plateau Sam steps out onto is covered in a web of thick vines, and beyond the trees and plants surrounding the area, Sam can see the amber glow of the evening sky.

Sam tucks the chalice into his jacket as he stands at the mouth of the temple, watching the last rays of sunlight spill across the valley.

It's dusk when Dean wakes up from his impromptu nap, and the world around him has turned into a soft, mist-covered dream. The sky's melting into purples and reds, and for a long moment Dean listens to the sound of Castiel's gentle breathing, from where he's still wrapped around Dean's side.

"Why'd you let me fall asleep?" Dean asks, yawning wide.

"Because you needed it," Castiel says, climbing to his feet and stretching his lithe body to the sky. "However we still need a protected place to camp for the night," he adds.

"Yeah we do," Dean says.

Castiel's hand is dry and warm in Dean's palm as the angel helps Dean to his feet. Dean squeezes their hands together and scans the trees around them, rays of dying sunlight cutting through them in ropes of orange and yellow. "I think there should be more cover to the east, nearer the foothills. Let's head there and see what we can find before sundown."

The minutes flash by like a slideshow of pictures, images from the jungle blinking in and out as they wind their way through Dean's overcrowded mind. Castiel's always near by, with his deft hands and his wide arms, and his rough voice whispering to Dean. It's comforting.

The night comes on gradually, heat diminishing to a coolness that has Dean and Castiel walking closer.

"We could possibly set up near here, in those caves," Castiel says about a half hour later, pointing to a series of rocky outcroppings and openings about a mile away, at the base of the bluff. His voice is a low rumble into the silence of the jungle.

"Looks promising," Dean says as they make their way toward the prominent, dark rock exposures along the eastern hillside, flashlights darting through the growing darkness. There's still just enough natural-light visibility to see far into the distance, and Dean suspects much of these weathered limestone formations used to be a series of sea caves, centuries ago when the ocean reached this far inland.

After several minutes of trekking through the jungle, Dean and Castiel make their way out of the underbrush, winding through the dense patch of woods and toward the mouth of a small cave system. The night is clear and cool, and there's an underlying crispness to the air here. With less treecover overhead, Dean can even make out the entire sky, all lit up by stars and a quarter moon.

The openings to most of the caves are small, not even large enough to crawl into, but they find a couple that are large enough to pass through and that open up into larger caverns. Dean remembers Eloni telling them that most of the South Pacific islands are riddled with caves, formed by ancient lava flows and centuries of weathering. Many of them were used by the original inhabits of the islands as homes and fortifications, and it's why so many caves feature in the myths and legends of Rapa Nui.

"This one," Castiel says from where he's hidden behind a row of trees a few feet in front of Dean.

Dean gives a few chops with his machete, breaking through the wiry growth of tree limbs, bushes, and vines that hide Castiel and the cave from his view. As he makes his way toward Castiel, Dean raises up his flashlight and whistles as he meets the angel at the wide opening to the cave. A variety of jungle plants decorate the cave's mouth, their fragrant flowers appearing in soft reds and yellows and purples.

"You brought me flowers? So romantic," Dean says, smirking as he catches Castiel's eye. The angel huffs an exasperated smile, and turns to point into the dark depths of the cave.

The cavern is big, and Dean's flashlight flickers over the solid limestone walls, whose multicolored stone is highlighted by the moon's glow. He notes that they're in what must be a vertical cavern. The ceiling opens up to the sky, allowing soft moonlight to enter into the chamber. It's nearly enough light to see the entire cavern by. Large boulders wind themselves around the room, creating a sense of privacy from the outside.

"Spacious, dry, and decent lightning," Dean declares, smiling over at Castiel. "I say we put in an offer."

"An offer of what?" Castiel asks, frowning at Dean before turning to work his way across the cave floor, fingers running over the walls, sensing by touch.

"Cas, this is why I'm only taking Sam when we go house hunting," Dean laughs, dropping his machete, shotgun, and messenger bag to the ground. "Hey, can you hand me your pack too?"

Castiel settles down beside Dean on a boulder in the center of the cavern, and hands over his bag. Dean does a quick supply check, feeling relieved at what he finds. "I think we're doing good," he says. "We got a first-aid kit, MREs, flashlights, rope, and batteries. I doubt those zombie guards are coming back from your light show, but if they do we should have enough extra ammunition to hold them off."

Dean picks up his flashlight and points it toward the cave entrance, their surroundings illuminated by the brilliant yellow electric beam. "We can sleep here and then head out in the morning to find Sam."

"Yes," Castiel agrees with a nod. "I don't sense that anything will trouble us here. I will put the wards up while you locate wood for a fire."

"On it," Dean says, climbing to his feet. He spends the next fifteen minutes searching the surrounding area for kindling, finding enough pieces of dry wood that he is soon able to get a fire going inside the cave. Between the slices of moonlight falling from the cave opening above, and the small campfire, enough warm light soon illuminates the small, rocky chamber.

When Castiel returns from setting the wards, he looks tired. Dean's own body is smarting with aches and pains, and he knows they both could use a full night's rest, and some time to just sit and breathe. Dean pauses in front of the fire, quietly watching it sputter and pop. In the silence, he hears the sound of trickling water in the walls and the soft noises Castiel's boots make as they shuffle across the cave floor.

"Dean."

Dean turns to see Castiel standing by the far wall, watching Dean with a soft gaze. "I found something I want to show you," the angel says.

"Oh, really?" Dean smirks, directing his flashlight Castiel's way, the walls behind him glistening as the yellow beam dances along the bumpy rock surfaces. He slowly wanders over to Castiel, leaning into his personal space and placing a hand over his hip. "What did you need me to see?" he asks, brows waggling, suggestive.

Castiel's lips curl in a soft smile, but he doesn't say anything. He takes Dean by the arm and leads him down a tunnel that winds further into the cave system, letting the flashlight guide them along. Dean has to duck his head to avoid a few low-hanging rocks as they make their way through several tight squeezes in the twisting passage, some almost too narrow to turn around in. Dean slides his hand along the surface of the tunnel's walls to avoid tripping, feeling the slick, grimy stone beneath his fingertips. Truth is, he doesn't like enclosed spaces, too many memories of being buried alive, trapped in darkness, but Castiel is close by, and it's only a few more seconds before the cave's ceiling rises higher, the air cools, and the tunnel opens up into another wide chamber.

Dean hears the roaring sound of water before he sees anything, his eyes slowly adjusting to the change in light. He blinks, inhales sharply, taking in the amazing sight before him. The cave leads down to a small natural pool surrounded by boulders, giant columns of stone, and thick jungle foliage. There's a large opening in the cave wall leading to the outside world, but it's the wall of falling water that captures Dean's eyes.

"Holy shit," Dean breathes out, gaze flickering over the tall waterfall, lit up by the moonlight. It cascades down into the pool, forming a secluded grotto. Tiny streams also run in-between the surface rocks and into the pool, giving the entire place the feel of a watery paradise.

" _This_ is what I wanted to show you," Castiel says, and Dean doesn't miss the teasing in his voice.

"The source of the water I heard in the walls," Dean says, eyes taking in the water, falling from what must be a stream system a few feet above them.

"There's an underground river system," Castiel says, his voice rumbling lowly in the confines of the cavern. "It feeds the pool here before leading out to rest of the island."

"Sweet," Dean says, listening to the rush of cascading water, its roar filling the cave. Moonlight passes through the open cavity and shines across the surface of the pool, creating a blue reflection that illuminates the entire space. The cavern is spacious, probably about four hundred feet across. Over time water has carved into the porous limestone rocks, creating giant sculptures of stone that rise up toward the cave ceiling.

"The water is safe for you to drink," Castiel says, and Dean nods, heading down to the edge of the pool and dipping his hands into the cool water. He lifts a palmful to his mouth, sipping at it slowly, its metallic taste lingering on his tongue before the liquid runs down his parched throat. Cupping more water into his palms, he splashes it across his face and neck, scrubbing at the caked-on dirt and mud.

Dean feels Castiel slide beside him, the angel's hand coming to rest against his back. Dean blinks water from his lashes and grins over at him. "So, what now?"

"Maybe we should take the time to fully bathe," Castiel says, voice soft in Dean's ear.

"Are you trying to say we reek?" Dean laughs, pulling Castiel closer and running his mouth over the stubble at his friend's chin.

"Very much so," Castiel says, smiling as he presses a series of kisses along Dean's neck before pulling away and reaching his hand out. "Come," he says, dragging Dean to his feet.

Dean doesn't protest being led around to the other side of the cavern. Within minutes he finds himself completely naked and pressed up against the wall of the cave as Castiel's long fingers trace along his hips, gripping tight as he runs his mouth along Dean's neck. Dean can feel the heat emanating from Castiel's body, soaking into the air.

"You're wearing too many clothes," he whispers because Cas is still fully dressed although Dean's clothes have been tossed to the cave floor.

Castiel presses his face against Dean's neck and smiles. Like Dean, he's covered in grass and mud, sweat matting his hair, dirt under his nails. The dirt and the grime, it's so human, and Cas smells so human: earthy and raw and real, a musky warmth that Dean's body responds to without shame. Before Dean can take a moment to further map the smooth, liquid muscle under his hands Castiel pulls away and steps back, his hands coming up to pull at his own clothes, slowly revealing smooth skin, gone pale in the moonlight.

Dean watches the strips of light slide across Castiel's shoulders, the familiar dips and angles. He knows Castiel's body so well by now, months and months of learning it in the most intimate of ways. But he never gets tired of watching the angel in motion, the mesmerizing physicality of him, the streaking curve of his back, the flat stretch of his chest. Castiel's human physique is muscled and tight, a little leaner than Dean's own, but not at all fragile. Not at all broken.

The cool night air seeps in through the gaps and crevices of the cavern, and Dean shivers. He steps away from the wall, shaking the coldness from his limbs before he walks toward Castiel. He takes a moment to rake his gaze across his friend's body again, noting the dusting of dark hair on his thighs, the dark curls of his pubic hair, the ripcord muscle in his legs.

Dean's gaze pauses on Castiel's face, on the thickening beard growth along his chin. "You need to shave, dude," he murmurs, cupping his palm around Castiel's chin.

"You once told me you like the feel of my face pressed against the inside of your thigh when I don't," Castiel says, voice a grumbled tease.

Dean laughs, shaking his head. "Okay, maybe I like you scruffy," he whispers. Or maybe he just likes getting the chance to shave Cas? He remembers the first time he'd had to do it, when they were on the road and too broke to buy a razor and shaving cream. They needed to look the part of clean-shaven DEA agents, so Dean had scraped his bowie knife along the angled curves of Castiel's face, moving in long, careful strokes until he could feel the angel's smooth skin under his fingers.

"Hmmm," Castiel replies, pressing his now naked body against Dean's own.

"Or maybe I just like you," Dean says, wrapping his arms around Cas and combing his fingers through his hair, laughing as his fingers get caught in the tangled, damp curls. "But you _do_ need a haircut."

"Need I also remind you of the last time we were in the backseat of the Impala," Castiel says, voice rumbling from deep in his chest. "You said you liked having something to grab onto when I—"

"Hey, hey," Dean laughs breathlessly, threading his hands through Castiel's hair and flushing at the memory. It's just that Castiel does these things with his mouth and his tongue, and Dean can't control the stuff he says during those times. "Let's just get in the water, ape man."

Dean climbs over a set of boulders as they work their way toward the deep edge of the pool. The rocks are smooth there, made so by the flow of water over time. They're a little painful against Dean's bare feet as he walks across them, but the water itself is cool, soft and gentle where it laps against the edge.

Castiel climbs in first, wading into the water slowly, the surface coming just up to his neck. Dean follows in quickly after, sucking in a deep breath at the sudden icy chill. It takes him a moment to adjust, but soon he's reveling in the silken feel of the water as it slides against his calves and his thighs, its weight pressing against his chest. He ducks under the smooth surface. The water envelopes his entire body as he submerges down into the darkness of the pool. He opens his eyes underwater and can just make out the smooth black rock wall of the pool and the crystal-lit cave floor. He stays under until he needs to breath, pushing to the surface in time for Castiel to wrap his arms around him and pull him back under with him.

They kiss for long moments under the surface of the pool, and soon enough Dean's world feels defined by the taste and feel of Castiel's lips, the roaring rush of water against his ears as they grab at each other underwater, grappling for purchase against the slick, slip-slide of wet skin. They kiss until the pressure in their ears becomes too painful and the need for oxygen wins out. They surface together, gasping for air and grinning like school children. Dean floats on his back for a while, eyes closed and mind completely blank, feeling weightless and more relaxed than he's been in a long while.

Water laps at his face, and Dean opens his eyes, tilting his head slightly to see Cas floating next to him. Dean smiles, moving his right arm so that it brushes against Castiel's own. They float side by side for a long time, arms spread wide, eyes landing on the patch of starlit sky that can be seen through the break in the ceiling.

After a while, Dean hears Castiel shift in the water, and then he feels him press against his side. Dean inhales deeply and turns his head a little until Castiel's warm breath brushes his cheek. The water is cold, but Castiel's skin still radiates heat as Dean presses against him. Castiel turns Dean around until they're both facing each other, treading water.

"I can't believe this place," Dean says, breaking the silence for the first time in a long while. He feels heavy in the water, like he might drop to the bottom, but Castiel's hands rest against his hips, long fingers stretching around Dean's middle to hold him in place.

"We were fortunate to find it," Castiel says, licking water from his lips.

"At least it's better than the last time we found ourselves neck deep in water. In Paraty, and then again on Easter Island," Dean mumbles, recalling the anxiousness of those times, how he almost lost Castiel. "Now we're doing it in style though, eh?"

"Yes, in style," Castiel swims closer, gently tugging at Dean's waist, and Dean yelps as he's suddenly pulled underwater with him again.

"You dick!" Dean splutters out when he resurfaces, coughing water and laughing as Castiel draws them closer, entwining their legs together in the water.

"Do you remember the dream we shared?" Castiel whispers, his voice a gentle, low tease as it presses right up against Dean's ear.

"Which one, dude?" Dean says, watching the rivulets of water drip down Castiel's neck, falling from his mop of dark, wet hair.

"When you first came to me," Castiel reminds him. "When I was lost under the weight of the souls."

"At the lake," Dean says, stopping before he says, _our place_.

"It was the first time we swam together," Castiel says quietly.

Dean nods, a picture of them swimming in the lake playing across his memory. It was also the first time he got an inkling that Castiel maybe wasn't gone, that the souls hadn't extinguished him completely under the identity of their new God. In the dream, Castiel had called the lake his sanctuary. Something inside Dean's belly twists, the memory of what he'd almost lost too much to dwell on.

Probably sensing Dean's discomfort, Castiel presses his hand against Dean's shoulderblade in a reassuring touch, as he pulls them both through the water to rest against the ledge of the rock wall near the waterfall. Dean watches Castiel relax against a large boulder, his naked body outlined by the moonlight. Something about him is so violently beautiful in this light, so terrifying in the way he seems at home in the shadowy, alien landscape of the cavern, a being of shadow and light. _Castiel_.

Dean shakes his head free of those thoughts, until all he sees is _Cas_ , his nerdy angel best friend, who's died and risen for him too many times to count. Dean notices how the tension has eased from Castiel's body. Water laps gently against the angel's torso, and his chest moves in and out in deep, even breaths. He seems relaxed, at peace, and Dean doesn't hesitate to swim toward him, wanting to share it.

Dean presses up against the length of Castiel, the angel's body sliding hot and lithe and wet against his own. He skims his hands up Castiel's hips to curve around his waist. He leans in and presses a kiss to the hollow of Castiel's throat, buries his face against Castiel's neck and closes his eyes, lost to the steady fall of water and the slow calming rhythm of his friend's breathing.

It's crazy intimate, the two of them alone in this water-filled cavern. The pool laps at Dean's own chest and thighs, as his mouth traces the line of Castiel's jaw before he lets his teeth tug at the angel's lower lip.

Castiel slides them into a kiss, and this is it, Dean thinks. This is what, this is _who_ , I want. He feels the truth of it simmering inside, the force of it so raw it takes his breath away. Castiel runs his fingertips to chase water over Dean's muscles, and their cocks nudge, align, thrust together.

Dean groans, mouth dropping open in a yelp when Castiel reaches down and picks Dean up out of the water like he weighs nothing, turning them around and pressing Dean against the wall before drawing close.

"Fuck, Cas," Dean breathes, digging his fingernails into Castiel's shoulders as he lifts his hips and circles his legs around Castiel's slim waist. They float together near the surface of the pool, Castiel bearing Dean's weight as he holds him up. Cas licks at Dean's neck, sucks on his earlobe, humming all throaty and satisfied as he grinds them together.

They shift and surge above the water, but Dean can't concentrate on anything but the slick heat of Castiel's mouth, the velvet-rough curl of Castiel's tongue as it touches his own. Dean reaches a hand between them to jack their cocks until they're coming together, the shock of it pumping through Dean's veins. The sound of splashing water as they sink down into the pool mixes with the blood rushing through his ears as he meets Castiel's eyes.

"Come here, Dean," Castiel says, pushing Dean under the waterfall's spray. The cold is shocking at first, but Dean tips his head back and lets the water sluice down his front, sliding across his shoulders. Shaking the water from his face, Dean pulls Castiel with him under the falls, his front to Castiel's back. They slide together, chest to spine, and Castiel closes his eyes against the cool water as it showers down over the both of them.

Slowly they begin to wash each other, the pressure of the falls like a deep massage into Dean's sore muscles. Castiel turns around, pins Dean to the rock wall behind the falls, stroking his hands over Dean's skin, and Dean lets himself be bathed, relaxing under Castiel's familiar touch. Not able to keep his hands to himself, after a time Dean begins to gently wash Cas in the spray of the waterfall, letting his fingers dig into the smooth grooves of his torso to caress his muscles and to trace the droplets as they stream down his body.

Dean works his hands methodically over Castiel, rubbing at his shoulders, the narrow swell of his hips. He kneads into the pressure points along his neck, shoulders, arms, and back as Castiel relaxes in his arms. Cas grunts, making a soft, grateful noise as Dean's tongue flicks out, lapping at the water along Castiel's shoulder.

Castiel's skin is sweet beneath the flow of water as Dean licks along his jugular, scrapes his teeth over the angel's stubbled chin, over the pale, vulnerable column of Castiel's throat. Castiel's fingers curl into Dean's short, wet hair, tilting his head back as he returns the favor, licking and nipping at his Dean's ear, whispering, "We'll get through this."

Castiel's long fingers skim along Dean's skin in contrast to the pounding water, and in that moment, Dean believes.

They dry off in front of the fire, bodies tangled together as they watch the light dance across the cave walls. The fire pops and crackles, and Dean runs his hands along Castiel's belly, fingers smoothing along the trail of hair below his navel. He drags the rough pads of his fingers slowly over the soft skin there, lingering in the warm dip of his hips. His face presses against Castiel's chest, mapping the pattern of his breathing. Dean stares into the fire, watching the flames lick at the wood.

Castiel runs his hands through Dean's hair, massaging his scalp with each stroke. "I've been a warrior all my long existence," he whispers into the quiet. Dean doesn't say anything, just rests his palm against Castiel's hip, squeezing gently.

Castiel continues, words a low whisper, "But with you, here, I am something more, something more than the battles I fought, the destruction I reigned down, the things I've killed. I'm more than an angel."

"Cas," Dean says, his voice coming out as a rough croak. He raises his head, and Castiel brings them closer, bodies sliding together.

"My love," Castiel says, and Dean lets his eyes slip closed as Castiel trails kisses under his chin and down his neck, his warm body pressing close, his miles of slick, naked skin glowing in the firelight. Castiel's fingers skirt across Dean's nipples, and Dean arches, gripping at the curve of Castiel's back. Dean's body is quaking, pent-up desire and something else, every nerve ending sparking to life at the feel of Castiel's skin on his.

Castiel soon has Dean on his back, and the angel hums against Dean's skin and trails the tip of his tongue into the grooves of Dean's neck, just tasting. He takes his time, running his mouth over the entirety of Dean's body, and Dean wonders if this is what it's like to be worshipped. Castiel whispers holy words into the soft skin of Dean's belly, Hebrew and Latin and Enochian. His fingers plot sigils along the ridge of each rib, as if every part of Dean is worthy of such attention. He bites delicately across Dean's hips, marking him in the way he likes to do sometimes. His lips trace the shape of Dean's belly, his long kisses spill across Dean's thighs, and his hot breath falls against the curve of Dean's cock.

"You bring me such joy, Dean Winchester," Castiel says in the moments after, when they're curled together again, breathing softly.

"Ah shucks, Cas," Dean says, trying to laugh it off, not wanting to admit how much the words pull at him.

"Let me take care of you," Castiel whispers. "Let me know you."

"Cas," Dean says, because this is too much. "You already know me."

"Then let me love you," the angel whispers, and Dean closes his eyes, because there's something inside of him that just won't stop wanting that.

In the dark cave, the firelight casts long shadows across Castiel's body as he crawls on top of Dean. Through the opening in the cave ceiling, Dean can still see a piece of the sky, its billion plus stars swimming overhead. It feels right that maybe Cas is one of the fallen ones, a source of incomparable heat and light covering Dean's body like a shield, sending his blood singing, his world spinning. God, Dean never wants this feeling to end.

"Cas," Dean says, but his voice is more breath than anything else.

"Shhh," Castiel whispers against his ear.

Dean feels drunk on the heat of the fire and on Castiel's mouth. He pulls Castiel closer until they're wrapped around each other, tangled in each other. They're quiet together for a long moment, and Dean becomes aware of Castiel's cock pressed against his thigh, hard and hot, and Dean's body responds, aching, on fire.

"Cas, I…" he begins, his voice cracking a little.

"What is it, Dean?" Castiel asks gently, turning so that his lips brush against Dean's neck.

"Want you," Dean whispers.

Castiel trails a hand down Dean's chest, across his belly, before resting it against Dean's hardening cock, circling his fingers around the base and stroking gently. "What do you want, Dean?" he asks, pressing his mouth to Dean's ear, his tongue trailing along the shell, teasing the lobe with his teeth. "Tell me," he says softly, warm breath falling softly.

"I want you, Cas. So damn much," Dean confesses, his voice sounding too rough and raw. Heat flushes his skin, hotter than the fire. "I want to feel you inside of me," he whispers lowly, and something in his belly twists at the admission, a sense of shame at revealing this, at needing this.

"Dean," Castiel whispers, raising his head and studying Dean intently for a few moments, eyes gone warm and curious, and Dean wants to look away.

"Please, Cas, I—" Dean pauses, voice hoarse. He shakes his head slightly, unable to finish the thought. He sucks in several slow, steadying breaths, eventually turning his head away and toward the dying fire. He whispers, "Forget it, okay?"

It's quiet for a long time after that, and Dean concentrates on his own breathing, the sharp shallow pants slowing down.

"I want to ask you something," Castiel whispers after a time, placing a hand on Dean's bandaged shoulder.

Dean takes a breath, and then another. "Yeah Cas?"

"What is it you fear from me?" he asks quietly.

Dean takes another breath, shakier than the last few. "I don't—"

"You do," Castiel says, voice so deep and knowing that Dean turns to look back at him.

"You're so—" Dean begins, pausing just to stare at Castiel, at his face, at the craziness of what Castiel is, what Dean is, what their entire time together has been. "This is all so fucked up, man. What even makes us think we can do this—"

"Do what?" Cas says, voice gone rougher and deeper, the light in his eyes darkening. "Be what we are together? Defy Heaven _and_ Hell? Stop the Apocalypse?"

"Love each other," Dean bites out forcefully, body tensing as he pulls himself out from underneath Castiel and sits up. _Goddammit_.

"Dean," Castiel says softly, reaching out a hand.

"Just don't," Dean groans, pulling away and running a hand through his wet hair. It takes him a moment to get his mind settled, body too lazy to respond to his own commands as he climbs on shaky legs to his feet. They'd laid out most of their blankets to form the rough bedroll they'd been using, but Dean finds an extra one and wraps it around himself.

He paces for a moment before going to stand in front of the fire, watching the embers glow and flicker. After a beat Dean says, "Earlier you said that being a warrior was all you'd ever known, but now you felt like something more."

"Yes," Castiel says, voice carrying across the room. "I do."

Dean nods, swallows hard. "I've been doing this thing, hunting, since I can remember. I was never a kid, Cas. I was never worth anything but the things I killed. That's all I am."

"We were only ever what our fathers made us to be," Castiel says quietly, and he stands then and walks towards Dean. He pauses in front of Dean and adds, "Until we disobeyed."

Dean looks up, frowning. "I'm still just a killer," he says, voice thick.

"You are so much more than that," Castiel says, cupping his hands around Dean's face and meeting his eyes intently. "You are a man of such wisdom, of such compassion. A man I would follow to the end."

Dean snorts, not able to pull away from Castiel's gaze. "Man, you need to get your eyes checked. You deserve better than putting that kind of faith in me, Cas. You know I'll disappoint you. And you've been disappointed enough…by your father. Your brothers."

"Dean, please," Castiel says, shaking his head.

"I ruin the things I love," Dean says, voice bitter, hurt. He knows Cas needs to hear this, so he keeps going. "You should walk away from me, for your own good."

Surprise darkens Castiel's eyes. "Why are you saying this?"

Dean pulls away finally, backing up a few steps and watching Castiel's hands drop to his side, fisting up. "I…I'm saying what you know needs saying," he whispers, voice gone cool.

"No," Castiel says, tone sharp. "You're afraid and you're saying these things when I know you don't mean them."

Dean releases a shuddering breath, wrapping the blanket around him further. He knows they can't let things get any more serious that they've gotten. Maybe it's already too late, but he has to try. "We can't do this anymore," he says, his words a soft rasp.

"Dean, you need to stop this," Castiel says, voice a near growl as he pushes himself into Dean's space.

"Stop what?" Dean says, meeting his eyes.

"Stop pushing me away," Castiel rumbles, pulling Dean down and pressing a dry kiss to Dean's lips.

"Cas," Dean breathes, opening his mouth to Castiel's insistent tongue. Dean digs his blunt nails into Castiel's skin, pulls him closer and claims his mouth in an even deeper kiss.

"You're worth it," Castiel mutters against his lips. "Why can't you believe that?"

"No," Dean says, pulling back and catching Castiel's eyes. "I'm not."

"Shut up, Dean," Castiel says, voice edged with deep command. "I feel regret for many things I've done. But I don't regret _you_. Finding you, befriending you, or loving you."

Dean snorts, shaking his head. "Cas, I failed you all."

Castiel shifts closer, taking Dean's face between his hands again, thumbs rubbing against the stubble on Dean's chin. His eyes are intent as he holds Dean's gaze. "Dean what I did last year…that's on me and me alone. Not on you. I made those choices, I went down that road. I lied to you, I manipulated you, and I hurt you and Sam. Stop blaming yourself for something I chose to do. Free will, remember?"

"Free will," Dean mutters, moving closer and resting his hand against Castiel's face.

Castiel takes a breath and says, "I wanted to find some way to redeem myself to you. But what does redemption even mean? Is it even possible?"

Dean swallows. He feels hollowed out. "I don't know, man."

"I don't either," Castiel admits. "Maybe all I can do is learn to live with my sins, to carry them. That is what _I_ can do." Dean doesn't say anything, his throat too raw.

"But there are things you carry Dean that you should not," Castiel continues, voice low and solemn. "You're not to blame for Sam's choices. For my choices. For your father's choices."

Dean meets Castiel's eyes. "Don't go there, Cas," he whispers.

"Listen to me, " Castiel says, voice adamant. "You're not to blame."

Dean sucks in a breath. "Cas, just stop."

Castiel shakes his head, stubborn. "Not until you hear me on this. You're not to blame for what I did. I know that there are thousands of things you carry on your back, but don't carry my sins, Dean. They are for me to carry. I've earned that right, dammit."

Hearing Castiel curse shakes Dean for a moment, and he blinks, frowning. "I've done horrible things too," he whispers. "In Hell, all those souls…"

"But you must stop comparing what you did to what I did," Castiel says gently. "You broke after decades of being tortured. You're not to blame for what you did in Hell. You _cannot_ be blamed for breaking, Dean. The bad decisions Sam and I made here on Earth aren't the same because the circumstances are so vastly different. Sam and I did what we did because of free will, and choice, and we have a right to carry those sins ourselves because they are _ours_ to carry, ours to live with. You can't be blamed for our mistakes. _You are not to blame_."

Dean pulls away, runs a hand over his face, scrubbing at the wetness at his eyes. "I should've done more, to protect Sammy, to stop you…"

"You're not a machine," Castiel says fiercely. "You're human. You've done enough, Dean. Please believe me."

Dean takes in a shuddering breath. "But that doesn't change anything. Cas, I'm still. I'm fucked up." _I'm broken_ , he thinks. _And I break people_.

"And I'm fallen," Castiel says, voice low. "We are what we are."

Dean closes his eyes for a moment, and then moves to settle down on the ground next to the fire, needing to fend off the chill in the air of the cave. Goosebumps cover his skin, and he's shivering.

Castiel eases down onto the ground next to him. "I can't tell you what to do," Castiel says quietly. "You must decide what it is you truly want."

Dean shakes his head. He's tired, his resolve slipping. "I'm sorry," he says.

Castiel says, "I'm sorry, too."

Dean turns, finds Castiel already looking at him, steady and close. There's so fucking much Dean wants to say. But he settles with, "There was this one summer when my dad used to take me fishing. We were staying in this small town called Blue Earth, Minnesota, with a buddy of Dad's, Pastor Jim. I was about fourteen, I think."

Castiel frowns, obviously confused by Dean's sad attempt at a diversion. "You enjoyed this?"

"Yeah," Dean says, smiling at the memory. "It was good to just do something with Dad that wasn't about monster-fighting, you know? Sam didn't like fishing, so he'd stay behind with Pastor Jim. But Dad and I, we'd just head down to Browns Lake. We never really said much to each other. We'd just go and spend time together. It was quiet. It was nice." Dean pauses, bites at his bottom lip. "He patted my back whenever I made a catch. Told me he was proud of me."

Castiel's hand closes around the meat of Dean's left calf, his thumb brushing Dean's kneecap. "Did he tell you that often?"

"Not too much," Dean says, turning to catch Castiel's eye.

"If it makes you feel any better, I've never even met my father," Castiel says, and Dean laughs softly because _yeah, ouch_.

They go quiet again, Dean picking at a string in the blanket, while Castiel watches the fire. "I can't force you to talk to me, but I wish you would," Castiel says after a time.

Dean angles his head to look at Castiel's profile, tracing the lines around his eye, the dark scruff covering his cheek and neck. "I'm afraid of losing you, Cas."

Castiel turns his head, studies Dean. His eyes are brighter than anything when he says, "No, Dean. You're afraid of loving me. It doesn't have to be one and the same."

Dean looks away, his heart pounding erratically, his fists clenching where they sit in his lap.

"Last year," Castiel continues softly, "I didn't go to you when I should have because I couldn't stand the idea of you in any more pain. I didn't want to burden you with another war, with yet more sacrifice, because you had already lost so much. You had given enough."

"Cas," Dean whispers. "I wouldn't have cared. I would have helped you."

"I know that, Dean," Castiel says, the back of his hand coming up to brush against Dean's cheek for a moment before he adds, "But I loved you too much to ask that of you."

Dean's heart stutters, and he jerks back, shaking his head. "Fuck, Cas," he growls. "You stupid sonofabitch. I'm not worthy of that kind of love, man. No way, no how."

Castiel tenses, mouth going tight and thin. "Don't be so foolish," he grinds out, voice resounding low, like a threat of violence. "I know what you're worth, Dean. I held your soul longer than I've held any human soul. I rebuilt you atom by atom. _I am the one who gripped you tight and raised you from Perdition_."

Dean blinks, the force of Castiel's all-too-familiar words hitting him all at once. He swallows, lowers his head, runs the end of the blanket between his hands. Yes, Castiel knows him, inside and out. Down to the cells of him. He rebuilt him. And…Cas had seen what Dean had been like in Hell, broken and ruined, and beyond fucked-up. He _knows_.

Dean looks up at him, and Castiel is watching him, scowling. Dude looks pissed. Dean lets out the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding and says, "Okay, can we stop the heart-to-heart now, because obviously I suck at this."

Castiel tilts his head and narrows his eyes. "You are so stubborn."

Dean smirks weakly, shrugs. "I'm a Winchester."

"Yes," Castiel says, sighing. His fingers trail along the back of Dean's neck, a sweet pain along his sunburned skin. "You are that."

They go quiet again, and the fire crackles away. After a time, Castiel pulls another fleece blanket from their bedroll and spreads it around them. Dean settles closer, and Castiel wraps his arm around his shoulders, tugs him even tighter. Castiel is warm and solid, and Dean buries his face against his neck, pressing a kiss to the hollow of his throat.

"Sorry, Cas," he whispers into his skin. "For trying to break up with you. I got a lot of shit in my head, man. A lot of stuff I don't know how to process."

"You hide so much inside, Dean," Castiel says. "You deny yourself closeness with people because you fear losing them. You take on the pain of those you love because you can't bear to see them carry it themselves."

Dean shudders, burying his face in the blanket resting on Castiel's shoulder, letting the rough fabric ground him.

"I know what you've been through," Castiel says, voice so quiet Dean struggles to follow. "And there is nothing that you have done that makes me think you are not worth loving."

"Please, Cas," Dean says, voice thick and soft.

"You are not to blame for what happened to you in Hell, for what happened to you as a child, for what happened to Sam, or to me," Castiel reiterates fiercely, and Dean closes his eyes, listening.

"There is so much evil around us," Castiel continues. "You've been on a journey this year, Dean. In many ways, it is the journey of a spiritual warrior."

"What is that?" Dean whispers, frowning.

"We all have inner battles, inner demons," Castiel says, his voice heavy in a way that tells of a deep familiarity with the idea. "The conflict against evil can sometimes be a battle within. It requires great courage and forbearance to step onto the inner battlefield and strike down whatever internal demons stand on the way to sanctity."

Dean thinks about the deserts of Ante-Purgatory, of Marco and his Mom, of the things he saw on his way to Castiel. The monster he fought that looked like himself.

"Tell me what you want," Castiel says, repeating his words from earlier in the night.

Dean sucks in a breath, pulling away as he does so. He runs a hand over his face and meets Castiel's eyes, returning stare for stare. "I want you. All of you."

"And I want you," Castiel murmurs, his deep voice dropping even lower. "You're a choice that I am making. I choose you, Dean."

Castiel's gaze cuts right through him, and Dean doesn't hesitate to pull him in, to kiss him like the world is ending, and maybe it is. Maybe it is.

"I choose you too, Cas," Dean whispers.

_The Caves of Tu'ugamau Island_

"I was seventeen, and he was just some older guy at a townie bar," Dean says, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck. "He looked a bit like Marco, and I…well, yeah."

"Did you enjoy it?" Castiel asks lowly, fingers brushing over Dean's hand.

"Not really," Dean says, snorting as he remembers. "I was drunk off my ass and the guy was rough, an asshole really. He left me in a lot of pain. I looked like such a twink back then, you know, and these guys thought they could just take advantage…"

Castiel brushes his thumb over Dean's temple. "Afterward, what happened?"

Dean closes his eyes, biting at his bottom lip. "I was confused," he whispers. "I was afraid Dad would hear about it cuz he got around to a lot of those bars too. Ashamed too, maybe, because… well, I knew I wasn't supposed to be like that. But I just kept wanting these things, even though I knew I shouldn't."

"Dean, look at me," Castiel says, and Dean obeys, opening his eyes and meeting Castiel's unflinching gaze. "There is nothing wrong with you," the angel says, and his words are ragged-soft, angry.

"But I felt like a fucking failure, Cas," Dean chuckles, joylessly. "It felt like I couldn't even get this one thing right – knowing who I needed to be attracted to."

The darkness inside the cave is warm and heavy, and Dean doesn't protest when Cas winds them closer together, streaks of moonlight falling against the raven black of his hair.

"There is nothing wrong with you," Castiel repeats with a soft growl. "Humans wield gender and sexuality like a weapon when it is only meant to reflect my Father's love."

"Yeah, well," Dean huffs, swallowing hard at the feel of Castiel's possessive hands reaching out for him, at the sense of belonging that he sees in Castiel's eyes. Then there's the dry press of Castiel's lips against Dean's skin, down the line of Dean's neck, and across his wounded shoulder.

"What about the other times?" Castiel whispers.

Dean sighs as he looks over at Cas. "You can't ask me to be this honest with you, man," he mumbles.

"You hide too much," Castiel says quietly. "All these years, hiding from your father, your brother, from yourself. You don't need to hide from me. I've known you down to the cells of you, the very atoms. I've cradled your soul in myself, Dean."

"Jesus, Cas," Dean says, shaking his head. "Anyone ever tell you that your small talk is kind of crazy intense?"

Castiel nods. "Uriel used to tell me that I dwelled too much on weighty subjects."

"Well, Uriel was a dick," Dean sighs, chuckling. "But he was right on this point."

"We don't have to talk anymore about this," Castiel says quietly, fingers coming up to brush against Dean's cheek.

Dean's entire body aches with exhaustion, but he needs to continue, needs to explain. "Let me get this out," he says gruffly.

Castiel nods, his fingers sliding into Dean's hair then, pressing warm and gentle against his scalp. Dean tilts into the touch, settling comfortably in the space between Castiel's arms.

"There were only a few of other times," Dean says. "Nothing to write home about. Mostly forgettable drunken quickies outside of dive bars. There were a couple of times that…let's just say I did some stupid things to keep food on the table a time or two."

"And neither your father nor your brother ever knew?" Castiel asks gently.

"Nah, never," Dean says. "Although I think Sam might have had his suspicions. Especially when I came home with money he knew I didn't get from hustling pool. He never asked though. Never mentioned genders either when he saw me marked up after a late night."

"Your brother is perceptive," Castiel says, nodding.

"He was a smart-ass brat," Dean laughs.

"You raised him well," Castiel says, smiling.

Dean snorts, pressing his face against Castiel's neck and breathing in his warm, earthy scent for a moment.

"We don't have to speak about the other thing," Castiel says after a time.

Dean looks up at Cas, and there's something in the angel's gaze, something sharp and knowing, something that makes Dean's throat ache. He turns his head away and presses the side of his face against Castiel's neck again. Breathes him in deep.

"I haven't…" Dean pauses, and his breathing shudders. He licks his lips, not knowing what to say. "I haven't let…not since…"

"I know, Dean," Castiel says quietly.

"Okay, good," Dean says, angling his head back toward the angel. Castiel watches him intently, and Dean's grateful that he doesn't have to explain this part to him, grateful that Castiel already knows.

"What happened doesn't have to define you," Castiel tells him softly.

Dean runs a hand over his face, shaking his head. "I was in Hell longer than I've been alive," he says quietly. "I spent more time with Alastair than anyone in my entire existence. How fucked up is that?"

Castiel catches Dean's eyes. "But you already know that you are not his," the angel says, words deep and low and insistent, and Dean shivers at the cool steel he hears there.

Castiel leans forward and brushes his fingers across Dean's lips, tracing the swollen curve of the bottom one before he continues, "Do you understand that, Dean?"

Dean forces himself to push the memories of Hell away, and nods. "Yeah, Cas, I do," he whispers, and Castiel pulls him closer, his hand placing soft pressure at the back of Dean's neck as he guides Dean's head down and presses their mouths together. Dean's hands knot in Castiel's hair, and he's growling and shoving into the kiss. Castiel's mouth opens for him, wide and deep, hungry and wanting, and Dean wants to crawl inside and take up permanent residence.

Dean's wrapped in the close circle of Castiel's arms, tangled in his body, when he pulls back and looks down at Castiel. "I want all of you," he whispers.

"You have me." Castiel touches his palm to Dean's cheek, the cool fierce blue of his eyes lit up by the fire.

"Yeah," Dean says quietly. Then he slides his hand into Castiel's hair, leans forward, and presses his forehead to Castiel's own. Whispers, "Then let me feel you."

The fire crackles next to them, and Dean clenches his fingers in handfuls of Castiel's hair, still damp from the pool. "Cas, God, please," he whispers, his entire body twitching as Castiel presses warm lips to Dean's perineum, his long tongue darting out to swirl around the sensitive skin there.

"Jesus, fuck," Dean chokes out, arching up, back pressing harder into the rocky floor as he spreads his legs wider. God, he wants _more_.

"Cas," Dean manages to moan out, voice haggard. "Please, Cas, please—"

Castiel's head pops up from where it's been busy between Dean's legs, and he's smiling softly as he licks his lips. "Relax, Dean, I've got you," he says, voice low and throaty, lanced through with heat and desire.

Castiel moves his hands underneath Dean, palms massaging deep into Dean's asscheeks as he lifts Dean's body higher, pushing his legs up, spreading them wider, and angling Dean in way that allows him better access. Dean can't help the sounds he's making then, soft whimpers as Castiel's tongue teases him open.

Dean bites hard at his lip and fights to keep from yelling as Castiel pulls up to lick a slow line down over Dean's cock, slurping hard and smacking wetly as he suckles at the head, lapping up the droplets of precome. Castiel's taking Dean in with so much force Dean has to fight hard not to let go. Castiel mouths at his balls and licks around them and underneath them, before sucking one and then the other into his mouth.

"Jesus Christ, Cas, please," Dean cries out, bucking up hard, his heart ready to jump out of his chest.

And then Castiel's mouth is back where it started, stroking across the sensitive skin of his crack, smearing Dean with spit, and Dean can feel it trickling down the crease between his thighs and over his hole. _Sweet Jesus, have mercy_.

Castiel's tongue follows, lapping at the thin skin of Dean's hole and pressing inside until Dean's gasping, hot tears pricking at his eyes. He moans breathlessly, opening his legs even wider, angling his hips to bare himself completely to Castiel.

"Cas," he breathes, and Castiel squeezes Dean's thighs.

Castiel takes his time then, working Dean open first with his tongue, and then his fingers. Dean had found vaseline in the first-aid kit, and the jelly aids Castiel's fingers' path now as they skate the crease of Dean's ass, massaging the ring of muscle until the angel can slide one then two digits in with ease, working them in to his knuckle before slipping back out. He does it slowly, letting Dean adjust to the pressure of it, and Dean feels his need building with each pass against the sensitive nub of nerves deep inside. Dean rocks up, needing more, needing it faster, harder, deeper. _God, it feels good_.

Dean's slapping both of his hands on the ground by the time Castiel's long fingers begin to scissor softly inside of him, the pressure and feel almost too much. Dean pushes his ass forward when Cas shoves his fingers even deeper, stroking in and out, and _Jesus fucking Christ_ , Dean's coming so hard he sees stars.

There is no real relief though; even if Dean feels frayed and run-over, he still feels needy beyond words, and Castiel's tongue is still circling his rim, working him open, pressing inside, so deep, so good. "Cas, please," Dean says, voice still hoarse with need, cracking. "More."

Castiel stretches up along the length of Dean's body, leaning in to brush his mouth over Dean's lips before settling himself between Dean's legs, keeping him spread wide. Dean watches Castiel then, catching the way the soft midnight world of the cave and the night sky cocoon him in sheets of blue. He's naked and exposed, they both are, and Dean reaches out to touch Castiel, to touch the dark heavy swell of his cock, to tangle his fingers in the curls of dark hair, to memorize his moonpale skin littered with scars, the banishing sigil, Dean's handprint.

Castiel leans closer, sliding his fingers gently inside Dean again, and then his fingers are replaced by something weightier, hotter. Dean goes still and looks up at Castiel, meeting his eyes for a long moment, breath speeding up as Castiel nudges at his hole gently.

"Ready for me?" Castiel whispers, and Dean nods because he is.

He thinks of the times before, the few other men he'd let near him, the dirty bathroom stalls, the piss-stained alleyways, his face pressed up against some wall, eating dirt and tasting blood, feeling only guilt and shame. He thinks about all the ways he'd been broken in Hell, how Alastair knew his secrets and used every one of them against Dean, the cold cut of fear and violence sharper than any knife.

"Dean," Castiel says, and Dean closes his eyes and breathes deep because this is Castiel he's opening himself up to, Castiel's fingers pressed against his hips, Castiel's weight over him, Castiel he's trusting. Six years trying to figure this thing out between them, six years of Dean not knowing how to let himself have this because he spent a lifetime trying not to. _Castiel_.

"Dean," Castiel whispers again. He takes hold of Dean's chin and tilts his face up, making him meet his gaze. "I'm right here," he says, firm, eyes bright. Dean looks at Cas, and Castiel stares at Dean, his hand coming up to cradle Dean's jaw, his thumb stroking over his chin, watching him intently. "I will stop if you don't want this."

"I know," Dean whispers. "But I want it. Want _you_. So damn much."

It's open lips and teeth and tongue then, Castiel's hands curling over Dean's jaw, the long pads of his fingers stroking at Dean's face. When Cas pulls back and looks at Dean again, his eyes dig in even deeper, pulling back layer after layer.

There's a pause then, and Dean watches the angel hover over him, slim hips pressed between Dean's thighs, waiting. Dean feels unguarded, vulnerable. Everything he tries so hard not to be. "I trust you," he whispers, and that's all Castiel needs to hear.

"Spread your legs for me," Castiel commands softly, and Dean does, going so far as to wrap his legs around Castiel's hips as Castiel mouths along the hollow of Dean's neck, winding his hand between them. One finger and then another presses back inside, and Dean moves with it, sinking into a heat and pleasure that burns and aches and pulses inside him.

When Cas moves against him, his hands come out to wrap around Dean's thighs, palms pressing down warmly. He lifts Dean's legs up and slides his body closer, and fuck, fuck yes, god _this_. Dean's breath punches out of his chest as he feels it, the slow, heavy press of Castiel. The force of it claws at Dean's heart, lodges in his chest, so sweet and so wanted and so primal that Dean's breath stutters, blood rushing to his cheeks as Castiel pushes inside.

The pressure is unbelievable, and it seems to go on forever. Dean arches forward, his body shaking as it stretches around the head of Castiel's dick. Dean has to take a breath, to pull at Castiel's hips with his hands, to guide Cas inside.

Cas feels huge, impossibly so, so much more pressure than his tongue and his fingers had been, but the sharp sting is good, welcome even, and Dean doesn't think about the last time he did this or the circumstances he'd been in. All he thinks about is Cas.

"I can take away the pain," Castiel groans as he eases further inside, hands tightening around Dean's raised legs.

"No, I want. I want to feel you, Cas," Dean pants out, digging blunt fingernails into Castiel's slick shoulderblades. "I want to feel everything."

Dean's body shifts helplessly in response to Castiel's movements, and he almost shatters completely when Castiel bottoms out, hips pressing snug against Dean's own. Dean lets out a long, low moan, turning his head to the side as he presses forward. He's so full; it's almost too much sensation at once.

Castiel fucks into Dean in a slow languorous arc, his lean hips twisting gracefully with each endless thrust. It feels so good like this, taking Castiel deep and holding him there. A beat passes and then Castiel stills inside of him, running soothing fingers over Dean's hips. He bends for Dean's mouth, brushing his lips over Dean's own, dry and soft.

"Tell me if you need me to go slower," Castiel says, breathless.

"S'good," Dean whispers hoarsely, lifting his hips just a little higher, wanting Castiel even deeper.

"Dean," Castiel chokes out, his eyelids fluttering closed as he releases a low, guttural moan.

Castiel pulls almost all the way out, and Dean's left gasping and whimpering, before the angel presses back in, moving slow and relentless, and Dean can't help but whine at every inch taken. He arches up, desperate for more. Leaning forward, Castiel tilts them both into a better angle, and then he leans down to lick the curve of Dean's shoulder, slipping the rest of the way inside of Dean.

In the thin moonlight, Castiel's all lit up, body flushed and holy, sweat glistening on his chest and forehead as the tendons in his neck stand out in stark relief.

"Cas," Dean breathes out as he wraps his legs around Castiel's back again, urging him on with his heels.

"I'm here," Castiel whispers, voice ragged-rough.

Cas begins to put real power into his thrusts now, dragging against Dean's prostate with almost every stroke. It's a hard and insistent press that makes Dean's breath hitch and catch in his throat.

Dean hears himself whimpering, but can't stop the noises he's making, can't stop wanting more. "Cas," he says again, on a low moan, breath coming harsh and shallow.

"I'm with you." Castiel's voice is completely wrecked, but his presence is as steady and solid as ever.

Dean's unraveling fast, his heart hammering in his ribcage, his pulse throbbing in his veins. He looks down to see his own cock raring to go again, leaking sticky pools of fluid where it's lying stiff and blood-heavy on his belly.

The moments spread thin, and Cas angles his hips just right, pounding harder into Dean. The pleasure is searing, brutal and relentless. And for a time, it's all long, calculated strokes, all power and intensity, achingly perfect. Like always, Castiel's a force of nature, and not for the first time Dean suspects Castiel's body can't contain all that the angel truly is. The way light seems to pulse just under his skin, spilling out through his pores, the sheer power locked in his muscles as he moves.

Dean cries out and grabs Castiel's hips as the angel speeds up and thrusts harder, and suddenly everything drops away. All that remains is him and Cas and everything they are, have been, and will be. The thick, hard slide of Castiel's cock, the stretch and burn, is just enough to remind Dean that this is _real_ , that they're here and alive, and together. Finally.

"The way you feel," Castiel says, and his voice cracks and breaks, his hips dragging, thrusting, going deep, deeper still. Dean's groaning, lost in the feel of Castiel's cock inside him.

Castiel presses closer, and the change of angle almost makes Dean lose his fucking mind. Cas is slowly losing it too though, and it's a damn beautiful sight. His sharp composure is breaking, and his eyes are full of a star-lit shine. He sets a new rhythm that's slow and deep, like the ebb of waves against a beach, the wild darkness of the ocean.

They fuck for lifetimes, maybe, Dean's mind too lost in the rhythm of it to know the pass of time. The surrounding cave bleeds away into blackness as heat rides his spine, crests low and heavy in his balls. Dean wants to come, but he wants this connection to last even longer.

Castiel's chest glistens and ripples as he moves, and Dean focuses on the play of muscles beneath the angel's skin, the hard cut of his abdomen as he thrusts. Dean tries to see as much as he can, angling his head to see where Castiel slides into him and disappears, connecting them together and moving them as one.

Like a fire igniting in his soul, his nerves spark raw and hot, and Dean groans and quakes, the building heat and pressure in his body begging for release. Just when Dean doesn't know how much more he can stand, Castiel's hand wraps around Dean's cock, pumping him as he thrusts faster and faster, and Dean completely loses it. He's gone, coming with Castiel's cock buried deep inside of him. The world shatters around them, stabbed through with light and sound, and every muscle in Dean's body spasms and ruptures.

Castiel meets his gaze then, but the angel looks too far gone himself, eyes dark and lust-blown, so completely undone, body wrecked and flayed out. A dark flush rides his skin, and his hands shake as he fits them along Dean's hips. Castiel closes his eyes, thrusts up one last time, and comes with a cry that pierces through the entire cave, shaking the very ground around them.

The fire flares bright behind them, erupting nearly to the ceiling, the entire cavern exploding into light so bright Dean has to close his eyes. When he opens them again, they lock on Castiel, and Castiel stares down at Dean, and _Holy shit. Holy fucking shit_.

Castiel _shines_.

"Fuckin' hell," Dean gasps.

Castiel's body is motionless, still locked inside of Dean's own, but his eyes are bright, gleaming with the same light that seems to be spreading over his entire body, shining through his skin with an inhuman, iridescent radiance. There's something working its way just below Castiel's skin, coiling and rolling beneath the surface, brimming with power and heat. Castiel's pores spill out ribbons of moonlight, and the light itself moves over and inside of him, through him and around him, sparking off his hair and lashes, dripping from his mouth and hands. It's everywhere.

"Cas, is that you?" Dean whispers, seeing the familiar face of Castiel's angelic true form shining just underneath Castiel's human skin.

The light around Castiel ripples, brightening for a moment. Dean reaches out to touch Castiel, and that's when it gets even weirder. Tendrils of light tangle around Dean's fingers where he presses against Castiel's arm.

"Is this some kind of weird tantric sex magic thing?" Dean breathes out, eyes traveling up the length of Castiel's body.

"No, it's just some weird me thing," Castiel says, voice echoing deep and low.

"What's happening to you?" Dean asks, concern lacing his words.

"This part of me wishes to join with you as well," Cas whispers, and then the light spreads out of him, moving over Dean's fingers and down his arms, wrapping around him like netting. Dean feels the light like a shockwave to his body, a warmth that spreads through him entirely, leaving him breathless.

It's like he's on the verge of coming again, the pleasure so intense, so immediate, he feels himself hardening. As Castiel's light flows into Dean, it fills him in a way that Dean hasn't known since he held Castiel's grace inside of him on the return trip from Purgatory. It washes over him in waves of deep sensation, of light and sound and pure feeling.

Dean feels Castiel grow hard again inside of him. The angel's strong hands clutch Dean's hips tightly as he began to rock softly. Dean groans, arching into the motion. A moment passes before Dean feels Castiel tense up and thrust hard and sharp, once, twice, and then it happens: light explodes from Castiel's back and Dean twists his head away from the brightness. When Dean looks back, his mouth drops open.

He sees Castiel's wings, more shadow than form, lifting and uncoiling heavily, unfolding across the cavern.

"Jesus," he whispers, staring at them in wonder. This close, he can see twirls of light and shadow dancing around each other. The wings are hawk-like in shape, translucent, but shining with a dark, metallic luster. They look multihued in the light of Castiel's true form, the speckled feathers a vibrant mix of blacks, blues, purples, and grays.

"You can touch them," Castiel breathes out, rolling his hips slowly and flaring his wings further to expose them for Dean.

"Fuck, yeah," Dean whispers, reaching out tentatively, not knowing what to expect. He slides his fingers up into the blue-black ether-space of the feathers, and it's like moving through the heavy air of an electrical storm, the feel of a million soft pinpricks beating against his skin, light and grace spilling across his hands as he curls his fingers into the essence of shadows.

Castiel shudders, rocking slowly into Dean. "I can feel you," he whispers, groaning as Dean combs his fingers back and forth.

"You're so fucking beautiful," Dean whispers, because Cas is simply amazing.

Castiel leans down, his wings arcing around him, reaching out to surround Dean, cocoon him. This is familiar too, the feeling of being warm and protected and surrounded. A memory hits Dean then, one of being wrapped in light and heat and a thousand songs. Of safety and flight and…

"I remember this. Jesus, Cas, I remember you," Dean whispers, because he remembers being surrounded in Castiel's light, cocooned by the darkness of his wings. He remembers being rescued. "Oh, god, Cas."

"Dean," Castiel whispers, pressing lips against Dean's forehead and smiling. "I'm glad."

Castiel's chest heaves with exertion then, wings spanning even wider, and then he arches over Dean and pulls out all the way. Dean groans at the sudden loss of his heat, but soon enough the angel's settling his body against Dean again, his cock hard and slick and leaking, the tip of it smearing wet where Dean is still open and aching for it.

This time the sliding burn inside Dean rocks him backward, and he's stretched wide and greedy with need. Castiel snaps his hips hard, pushing in and out in sharp motions, and Dean's breath punches out of him with the force of it. Dean shivers, breathless, fingers scrabbling at Castiel's shoulders, tangling in his hair, in his wings. Castiel sinks deeper, pouring his light into Dean as his pace picks up, hammering Dean's ass with a fierce, frenetic rhythm.

Moments later, Dean feels Castiel go to pieces around him.

Dean can't see for the blinding light, and the stars, and the fucking sparks filling the room when it happens. And Castiel. Jesus, Cas is _gone_ , lit up and glowing, rocking into Dean with the force of a hurricane. They come together, yelling, everything rushing out of them with the crackle-snap of thunder and lightening. The earth trembles against Dean's back, and Dean wants to laugh but he can't even move his body, can't even remember how to breathe.

"Dean," Cas gasps, all broken whimpers and ragged panting as his thrusts slow down, eventually stilling completely. Dean shudders, feels every place where their skin touches, where the light flows between them. Castiel eases out of Dean gently, and Dean sucks in a deep breath, feeling Castiel's warm come slip and slide between his legs, the soreness in his body a sweetness he wants to last.

Castiel moves over him carefully, as if checking him out for injuries. There's the light touch of his dry lips to the bare skin over Dean's shoulders, his neck, his mouth.

"Cas," Dean whispers, tipping his head back as Castiel presses up under his ear and buries his face in Dean's neck, his wings spreading wide behind him.

 _I love you_ , Dean thinks, eyes scrunching tight. _So goddamned much_.

Castiel's lips linger against Dean's ear. He whispers, "What is it, Dean?"

"I've never…" Dean says aloud, his body still shaking in the aftermath, eyes watching the last of Castiel's true light fade away until he's just Cas again. Beautiful, non-glowy, Cas. "God, I've never felt anything like that before."

"Nor have I," Castiel says quietly.

"Wow," Dean whispers, voice shocky and awed.

"Yes," Castiel breathes out softly, a soft smile curling his lips. "You were most amazing."

The words are so soft and reverent, and Dean can't breathe, can't think. Can't. "Goddammit, Cas," he gasps out, and he's unraveling, he's losing it, he's gone too. "God help me, but I friggin' love you," he whispers, voice so low it hurts to speak. "Jesus, I love you so fucking much…I…"

"I know," Castiel whispers, rolling them closer, and laying himself gently on top of Dean. "I know, Dean."

And Dean laughs. He fucking laughs hard. "Jesus, Cas," he says breathlessly, pressing kisses along Castiel's neck and repeating himself, soft and hurried, "I love you, I love you, I love you."

 _Ego dilecto meo et dilectus meus mihi_ , Cas breathes into Dean's ear, pressing light kisses against the lobe, sucking it gently into his mouth before whispering, _Te amabo in aeternum_.

_"I will love you forever."_

_Tu'ugamau Island_

The jungle is thicker now that they are back on the southern side of the island. The mist hangs heavy in the early morning twilight, and the world is dim and murky beneath the trees, framed by jungle vines. The trees seem to dance and whisper, and the leaves are low, thick and heavy with dew. Dean has to squint, searching the shadows for anything, anyone. _Come on, Sammy_.

"Do you sense them?" Dean asks after a time, boots slicking in the soft, muddy earth as he turns to find Castiel crouching low and examining tracks on the wet ground. It had rained sometime during the night, although he and Castiel had been protected by their cave.

"No," Castiel says, heaving a heavy breath. "They must still be inside the city, protected by magic I cannot penetrate."

Dean squeezes his eyes tight, trying not to panic. It's been twenty hours since the separation, and every instinct he has is shouting at him to find his brother. _Come on, Sammy_.

"What if—" Dean stops talking, takes a breath.

"They'll find us," Castiel says, appearing at his side. He rests his hand against Dean's shoulder, and Dean falls into the touch, wrapping his arms around Castiel and pulling him close.

"Okay," Dean breathes against Castiel's neck, taking in his scent and letting it comfort him. He feels selfish for wanting to go back to how they were last night, the two of them getting lost together, just for a moment. He remembers the amazing feeling of Cas moving inside of him, buried so deep. _God_. Dean closes his eyes and reminds himself to breathe.

"Let's keep moving," Castiel says quietly after a moment, pulling away, but keeping his hand settled on Dean's arm.

Dean nods, because they're close to where they left their bags and supplies, and he knows that when they return from Lagi, Sam, Eloni, and Tuk will look for them there first. _If they return from Lagi_. Dean sighs, tries not to dwell on the possibility that they won't return. Keeping mobile helps, but it doesn't make the fear go away, that same fear that he always feels whenever he's threatened with losing someone. When he was growing up, he always thought it was a weakness, the kind of fear he felt whenever Dad left, or whenever Sammy yelled about running away. He knew that maybe there was something wrong with him, that there was a reason why everyone always left him, but…

"Dean."

Castiel's voice interrupts his thoughts. When Dean looks down, he notices that Castiel is holding on to his wrist tightly, and he's not letting go. Dean looks at him, confused. "Yeah, Cas?" he asks.

Castiel comes closer and touches Dean's face. He looks at him for a long moment, worry knitting his brows together. "It's alright."

Dean swallows, rubbing a hand over his face, his forehead damp from the mist. He takes a deep breath and whispers, "I need to say something to you before we go." He doesn’t know why he's whispering. There's no else one around. But, still.

Castiel's eyes are warm, trailing over Dean's face as he runs his fingers along Dean's jawline. "Yes, of course. What is it?"

"I love you," Dean rushes out, and maybe he finds he likes saying it, finds that it feels freeing to say something he's spent so much time trying to bottle up. "I'm in love with you too," he adds for good measure, and the way Castiel looks at him then, eyes going crinkly-soft and secretly happy, helps Dean to find the rest of his words, long buried deep down. "Fuck, Cas, I still can't believe that you love me too, that you keep coming back to me. Even through everything that happened last year, I never stopped wanting to fix things between us. I hope you know that."

Castiel's gaze lingers on Dean's face for a long time, and he whispers, voice low and ragged-soft, "You amaze me. Every day, you amaze me, Dean Winchester."

"Cas, don't," Dean protests, and he knows he's blushing. And he can't help laughing at himself for it because this is all too crazy, and he feels doped-up and high as a kite, ready to confess anything, _everything_. Fuck it. He never says shit like this. But. But he _needs_ to. This is Cas, this is his best friend. This is the man, the angel, that's seen him at his worst, and loved him even then. This is…Dean takes a deep breath, face heating up as he admits, "Maybe you're the goddamn love of my fucked-up life, okay?"

Castiel's eyes widen, and then Dean leans down and kisses him, because he needs to do this too. It starts off wild and hot, tongues dueling inside their mouths, the sharp bite of teeth drawing blood, their hands bruising as they grapple for purchase around the torn fabric of their jackets. Castiel's lips are warm and chapped, and Dean feels the world tilting beneath him, his heart pumping double time to keep up with the force of Castiel's presence, hot and bright and illuminated in the half-light.

When they break apart, Castiel says in a rush of breath, eyes glowing, "I feel as if I've waited my entire existence for you."

Dean's about to say something else just as sappy and chick-flick and never-gonna-live-it-down embarrassing, but he's saved from that by the sound of pounding feet rushing through the jungle, loud shouts and whistles. Dean swirls around, hands going to his weapons.

" _Dean! Cas!_ "

Dean startles, his body rocketing forward with shock and relief as the sound of his brother's voice reaches him through the dense treecover. "Sammy! We're over here!" he calls out.

A moment later his tall, ridiculously _overgrown_ baby brother comes crashing through the trees, breathless and looking a lot like Tarzan searching for his Jane. Tuk and Eloni come bounding through a moment later, eyes widening and mouths curling into huge smiles when they catch sight of Dean and Castiel.

"Oh my god, Dean, we've been looking for you all night!" Sam yells, rushing Dean like a linebacker and wrapping him up in his gargantuan arms. Sam squishes him breathless, but Dean doesn't mind, hugging him back as hard as he can.

Sam pulls away and shakes his head, eyes glowing wet. "You jerk, don't you ever make me do that again."

"I knew you'd find us, Sammy," Dean says, punching him on the shoulder. "Took you long enough though."

Sam rolls his eyes, then turns to glance over Dean's shoulder when he notices Castiel watching with a quiet smile. "Hey, Cas," Sam says.

"Hello, Sam," Castiel says, nodding. "We're glad you're safe."

"Come here, man," Sam says, and then reaches over and pulls Cas bodily into the kind of awkward nerd hug that sends them all laughing. Cas looks like a tiny bug squished against Sam's big frame, but there's a surprised smile working its way across the angel's face.

Dean laughs, pleased. "Been playing Indiana Jones without me, kid?" he says when Sam turns back to him. He takes in the state of Sam's wild appearance. His brother's long hair is disheveled, and there are streaks of mud on his face and shirt. The sleeves of his jacket are covered in dust and cobwebs.

"You could say that," Sam says with a big, sheepish grin. "I found our Holy Grail."

Dean shakes his head in disbelief. "Son of a bitch! Let me see it!"

When Sam turns to Tuk, the teen hands over his knapsack. "That it?" Dean asks, and he can't help his excitement as he watches Sam carefully take a burlap-wrapped object out of the bag

"Yeah," Sam says, tentatively unwrapping what actually does look like the freaking Holy Grail. The artifact is a large, golden chalice, heavily weathered by time, but intricately designed with runes and sigils that still can be seen despite its age and condition.

"Eloni says we use it in the ritual," Sam says, placing it in Dean's hand and smiling. "We wrapped it in a piece of burlap that has the spell for the combined ritual written on it."

Dean lets his fingers close around the cup, the unexpected warmth of the metal seeping into his hands. Something about it feels right, and he takes a moment to memorize the texture of the cup against his calloused fingers, the roughness of the engravings, many of which he recognizes from the stone walls of the gateway temple.

"So now what?" Dean murmurs, taking his eyes away from the chalice for a moment to glance at his team, the four of them looking battle-worn and exhausted, as they gather all around him.

Sam laughs, strained. "Head back to Easter Island? Figure out how this whole prophecy thing works? Find the False Prophet?" he offers.

Dean cocks his head toward his brother. "Sounds like we still got a lot ahead of us," he says, passing the chalice back to Sam, who carefully wraps it back in the burlap and slips it into the bag. "Think we're ready for it?"

Sam seems to think about it for a moment, then shrugs. "Have we ever been ready?"

Dean laughs quietly. "Hell no," he admits. He turns when he feels Castiel press against his side, lacing their fingers together under the fall of their jacket sleeves. Dean glances down at him, and feels his face warming at the close proximity, at the simple touch of support.

"We're going to be ready this time," Castiel says, low and rough.

A part of Dean thinks maybe Castiel is right. He smiles at him before turning to glance at everyone else again. "Okay," he says. "How about we regroup by our supplies and eat something, cuz I know I'm friggin' hungry, and then figure out next steps."

"Sounds like a plan," Sam says, smirking a little at where Dean and Cas are pressed close together, and Dean sighs, because yeah, Sam is not going to let him live this one down.

Sam's kind of having trouble getting over this place, with the endless sky, clouds hovering in a line over the ocean, horizon a dark blue line. Seems fitting to be in a place that does seem like the actual edge of the world while they're trying to stop yet another end of the world for what –the third time, no, _fourth_ time now? Not that Sam has really lost count, all too aware of that chain. He can't shake off the sense of it as a ripple that went through him and Dean to Castiel, as if they're all three cursed, and who can even say where it truly began. They're not alone in the chain.

The wind-blasted grass above the beach is a patchwork of brown and green, and in the near distance, the _Sea Goddess_ floats serenely where they anchored her before they set off on their trek. A few yards away from Sam, Eloni sits on a rock overlooking a tide pool, the bag containing the chalice in her lap as she stares toward their boat and the open ocean beyond. She absently turns the bracelet on her wrist, holding her arm near her chest. Sam knows she's working over the clues they've got and trying to work out an answer. They've paused to rest, here on this beach, before continuing on to the boat for their return trip to Easter Island, and somehow none of them seem willing to leave Tu'ugamau until they're sure there's nothing more for them to do there. It's almost an electric current under Sam's skin, a sense of expectation, that the answers are on the tips of their brains, hovering just out of reach. Maybe it's this place, its closeness to ancient magic.

"Tuk, don't go too far," Eloni calls out, and Tuk, fifty yards or so down the beach, lifts his hand to reassure his mother.

Dean's kicked his boots off, rolled up his jeans, and he's sitting on a rock within arm's reach of Sam, while Cas sits on a rock near Dean. Like Eloni, Castiel's gaze is out towards the ocean. He frowns, body remaining still in a particular way that Sam often associates with Castiel. Cas adjusts the bandolier across his chest, glances up at Dean, and the frown softens as Dean catches his eye and gives Cas a spontaneous, lopsided smile. It's something Sam probably wasn't supposed to see, but Sam can't help catching how Dean's face lightens before he quickly turns away to stare down at the tide pool. There's an odd new peacefulness to Dean, a softening of his edges that Sam's only seen a few times on his brother, while Cas has lost some of the haunted expression he's been wearing the past month or so. Something's changed between them. Sam can't pinpoint what, but it doesn't matter. They're here and they're safe, for now anyway.

"At least we got the last artifact." Sam leans back, the rock he's perched himself on rough against his palms. "Score one for our side."

"Yeah, so we're at negative fifty instead of negative a bazillion, go Team Free Will." Dean rubs the back of his neck. "Or okay, maybe we're more edging into the pluses," he concedes, as if he's making a confession, as if he's afraid to even say it, and Sam definitely can't miss the way Dean sneaks a glance at Castiel right then.

Biting his lower lip to hold back a smirk, Sam watches a bird wing low over the water. Despite being two of the most screwed-up, battered, and tough people Sam's ever known, it's the funniest thing ever how much Dean and Cas sometimes act like a couple of ninth graders with a crush.

"Perhaps we're simultaneously in the negative and positive numbers," Castiel says, and again a _look_ goes between him and Dean.

"Maybe we are." Dean grins widely this time, first at Cas, then at Sam, pushing his bare feet into the gritty, wet sand. "And hey, as a bonus, imagine Meg's irritation when she finds out we got to the shiny objects before anyone else. Remember the way she talked about Cthulhu like he was her own personal Jesus—"

Dean stops, going rigid.

Gripping the bag with the chalice, Eloni slides down from her rock. "Dean? What is it?"

"Meg," he says, frowning. "I was just thinking how…back during that thing with Adam, she said something about how if she couldn't stop Cthulhu or control him, then she'd at least be his head cheerleader."

Sam has that expectant feeling again, something obvious that he should be picking up on immediately but doesn't as it snags in his thoughts.

"The False Prophet," Dean says, voice a near growl.

"Wait." And then it clicks in Sam's head too. "Meg…"

"Is the False Prophet!" Eloni finishes. "Tuk!" she calls, gesturing, and Tuk starts making his way back towards them along the beach, picking his way gracefully over and around clusters of rock.

"Shit," Sam whispers.

Eloni clutches the bag holding the artifact in front of her. "The False Prophet summons the Beast…"

"And the prophet is its herald," Castiel says cautiously. He seems off in his own train of thought as he ponders the possibility.

"That can be bound to the Beast in order to destroy it," Dean finishes.

"I don't know," Sam says, shaking his head. "Maybe it's too much of a reach."

"But it adds up," Dean says quickly. "She's been dropping hints she knew what was going down as far back as Crystal Beach, and that was months ago. And besides, it's the only theory we've got right now." He bends over to pick up his boots. "Cas? You got any thoughts on this?"

"It could be Meg, yes." The angel hesitates, then adds, "Yes, it would make sense. She has been involved in the Beast's rise this entire time."

"So…what do we do now?" Tuk runs his hand through his long hair, scratching the top of his head with nervous energy.

Dean sits back down on a rock and starts pulling on his socks and boots. "We capture her."

"We can set something up at my place back on Easter Island," Eloni offers.

"No," Dean says. "Now. Before she can make any more plans, or figures out we've got the last artifact, or does something else to pave the way for The King of Tentacles to become bigger than Bono."

"Uh, right here?" Sam gestures down the beach, his stomach twitching a little. "And didn't Cas say she might be able to refuse a summons?"

"She may be able to," Castiel cuts in smoothly. "It would depend on how much power she has acquired since Crowley's demise."

Dean is utterly decisive. "I say we dial her up and see." He glances over to Eloni, his tone meaningful when he adds, "Maybe if it isn't our number that flashes up, she'll take the call…"

Eloni nods slowly. "I'll do it."

Sam has seen this kind of nervous focus in Dean before, this surety, and it usually means Dean is a hundred and fifty percent right or a hundred and fifty percent wrong, and that means Sam will jump with his brother. But there are practical considerations. "How're we going to build a devil's trap on sand? Maybe we should do it on the boat? It'll have to be concealed somehow."

Tuk crouches and scoops up a handful of small rocks from the water. "Guys…" He straightens up and holds them out, shining and wet on his palm. "I have an idea."

They stand in a circle – or roughly in a circle – spread out and lopsided. Eloni finishes the summoning, on her knees with the small bowl half-sunk into the sand. She rises, brushing the sand off her hands while Tuk takes his place at her shoulder. Across the loose circle, Dean and Castiel face each other, with Sam next to Dean.

Sam holds his flask of holy water with the cap loosened, down at his side the way he would hold a knife, and next to him Dean does the same. They're lucky the wind has died down.

Again Sam's struck with the peace of this place, its remoteness, and yet here they are going to war as they always do, because there isn't a way to avoid it, not really. Only for a little while, and then there's always work to do. There was a time when Sam thought maybe there was a way out – even Dean maybe thought it too. But it's not a question of getting out. It's a question of finding the best of life while you're still in. He thinks of Mira, and realizes how much he misses having her with him. He's most aware of her absence when he's standing still, and at night while he's trying to sleep.

They wait.

It's three minutes, give or take, before Dean starts fidgeting, changing his grip on his flask from one hand to the other. Cas adjusts his grip on his salt-round loaded shotgun, pushing back a few strands of hair from his forehead with the side of his thumb. The seconds tick by, punctuated with the rush and hiss of the surf hitting the beach and striking the rocks, the sense of expectation becoming an even heavier weight in the air, but the energy's draining out of it.

Sam's just starting to wonder if the summoning failed, if Meg was able to avoid it like Castiel said some demons are able to do, when he blinks and Meg is suddenly there. As she scopes her audience, her lips purse in a pout.

"All right, kiddos." The wind blows her hair into her eyes and she lifts a hand to brush it away. "What do you want?" Her gaze slides over the group, landing on Castiel. "Hi, Clarence. You miss me?" She blows him a kiss. Dean rolls his eyes, and Castiel's face goes more impassive than usual, but that's it. That seems to take some of the vinegar out of Meg. She sighs impatiently. "Fine, we're playing coy today?"

 _Take a step…take a step…_ Sam silently wills her. There's no way, in a summoning, to determine the precise spot a demon will appear, only the general location. They're lucky she landed on the beach as close to them as she did.

"Look, cupcakes, I don't have the time." Glaring, she moves closer to Castiel and Dean. "So start talking or I'm—" Meg's body jerks to a stop.

"Gotcha," Dean crows.

The realization of what just happened hits Meg's features, creasing them ugly with fury, and she lunges at Dean, only to slam to a halt again after hitting the invisible barrier. Eloni grabs Tuk's arm and pulls him a few feet farther away from Meg. "Stay back, demon," Eloni says coldly.

Meg's eyes slide to black, taking them all in, eyes eventually landing on Dean. "Just like old times, eh, Dean-o?" She sounds almost admiring. "How?"

"Stones. Few inches below you, under all that sand," Dean answers. "Don't bother digging, you know as well as we do you can't disrupt the trap yourself."

"Well, aren't you all the cutest ever." Meg folds her arms and cocks a foot forward, heel of her shoe in the sand, her eyes going back to human. "Now. What do you mooks want? I noticed the new locale. Were you lacking beach bunnies and thought you'd get me to join in the fun?" She winks.

"Actually…we have everything we need now," Sam says, and he maybe shouldn't, but he enjoys the confusion that ghosts over Meg's features before she can hide it.

They've planned this out carefully ahead of time. Castiel keeps his shotgun trained on Meg as Dean bends to gets the roll of duct tape they retrieved from the boat out of his jacket pocket, which is lying in the sand near his feet. He pulls a strip of tape free and tears it with his teeth while Meg glares.

Dean and Sam flick the caps off the holy water flasks and fling the water at Meg at the same time.

She screams, smoke rising from her skin and clothing, her eyes gone black again as she stumbles back. Before she can recover, Dean steps into the trap with her, grips her shoulder with one hand, and pushes the tape over her mouth with the other. Meg shrieks with rage through the gag and takes a swing at Dean, who jumps back. Sam's grip tightens on the flask, ready to fling more holy water, but Castiel steps in front of Dean, shotgun raised at Meg.

"We know salt rounds can't kill you, but it'll hurt like a sonofabitch," Castiel says icily.

The angel and the demon glare at each other. Meg's not teasing now.

Behind Dean and Castiel, Eloni hurries over to Dean's jacket and tears off a few more lengths of duct tape. She brings them to Dean while Cas keeps the shotgun trained on Meg.

"Don't move," Castiel says to Meg, his voice calm. "Also, if you hurt him at all, after I shoot you full of rock salt, I'll hurt you right back. And you won't enjoy it."

Sam has no idea if Cas is bluffing or not. Fighting off the zombie hordes had to have taken most of the remaining mojo out of him, but the great thing about Castiel is that he intimidates well. It might be a bluff or it might not be, but Sam figures there are very few willing to take the risk when Castiel has that note in his voice.

While Meg's glare sweeps over each of them, Dean steps into the trap again to bind her wrists together using the tape. Then he walks back out again.

"That should do it," Dean says.

Meg's eyes are a deep, shining black. She makes a snarling sound in her throat. But she's caught. Finally.

"So…what now?" Sam asks, turning to look at his brother.

Dean nods his head towards the boat. "We head back to Easter Island to put together everything we need for the final plan. And to drop off Eloni and Tuk."

"Wait, what do you mean?" Eloni says, turning from starring daggers at Meg to looking at Dean and Sam expectantly.

"You've helped us enough," Dean says on a quiet breath. "And we're grateful. So incredibly grateful. But we can't ask this last thing of you. We—"

"But we can help," Tuk protests, and Sam sees his brother's eyes soften as he stares at the kid for a heavy few seconds before looking back to Eloni.

"Your boy needs his mom safe," Dean says softly. "He needs her alive. So we can't ask you to face Cthulhu with us. Please take yourself and your son, and head back to Chile as soon as we reach Easter Island. Protect yourselves and stay safe until this is all over."

Eloni looks at all of them for a long moment, her brown eyes warm and wet. She still seems unsure, but after a moment, she nods. "It's been a privilege working with you all, gentlemen. I am honored to have made this journey with you. My son and I will do all we can from the mainland to aid you in this."

"Definitely," Tuk agrees, and smiles at them. Then he asks, worry knitting his brow, "But how will you get to R'lyeh without us?"

Sam watches as a smirk winds its way across Dean's face. He knows his brother. Too well. "What are you thinking Dean?" he asks, wary.

Dean shrugs, his smirk only widening. "I always wanted to drive a Duck."

Sam chuckles and shakes his head. It's going to be a long Apocalypse.

**Author's Acknowledgements:** A million hugs of gratitude to my amazing artists for sticking it out for this chapter despite the crazy ups and downs of my summer, and for their patience and inspiring work here. Please make sure to leave them lots of love **[here](http://spn-redemption.livejournal.com/45008.html)** , **[here](http://spn-redemption.livejournal.com/44626.html)** , **[here](http://spn-redemption.livejournal.com/44542.html)** , and **[here](http://spn-redemption.livejournal.com/44129.html)**. Special thanks go to [](http://dotfic.livejournal.com/profile)[**dotfic**](http://dotfic.livejournal.com/) for penning the Meg capture scene in this episode. Thanks to my partner in crime, [](http://zatnikatel.livejournal.com/profile)[**zatnikatel**](http://zatnikatel.livejournal.com/) for taking on this Beastly series with me. And love and thanks to you readers for your patience with us this summer – it's been a long and crazy ride, and I sincerely hope you all feel the story has been worth the wait. In the words of Professor Eloni Nam'ulu, I am honored to have been a part of this journey with you. ♥


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